


The Return of the Little Piggy

by JMonCheri



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Fashion & Models, Angst with a Happy Ending, Body Positivity, Body Shaming, Body Worship, Bullying, But he's still a flustered little katsudon from time to time tho, Confident Katsuki Yuuri, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Fashion Designer!Yuuri, Fat Shaming, Fluff, Insecurity, Jealousy, M/M, Model and Businessman!Victor, Please Forgive me, Previously Chubby!Yuuri, References to Depression, Revenge AU, Romance, Unhealthy Body Standards, Victor is smitten, Who now has a supermodel bod, how do you tag, viktuuri, wrong implications of the fashion industry
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-19
Updated: 2017-06-08
Packaged: 2018-10-07 06:24:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 42,666
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10354104
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JMonCheri/pseuds/JMonCheri
Summary: Everybody had their regrets in college.For the students, it was making fun of Katsuki Yuuri.For Yuuri, it was letting himself become too stupid.For Viktor, it was not doing anything._-_Once there was a boy named Katsuki Yuuri, who was shy, loved to make clothes, had adorable smiles and was fatter than the usual average human being. Unfortunately for him, apparently being chubby wasn't all that accepted in the norm back then. After numerous accounts of bullying, Katsuki Yuuri disappears for good.Now years later, there is now a man only known as Y.K. Fashion tyrant, multimillionaire, professional cold-stare giver... and is trying his ultimate best to run away from his dark past, until a certain silver haired CEO of a certain rival company who went to the same certain college he went to back then decides to flat out entangle their fates together. Do both of them have anything to say for it? Sadly, no. No they don't.(Fashion & Couture AU)Russian Translation





	1. sick of all these people talking

 

Yuuri could hear the thunder again.

 

It was _loud_ , but surely you must’ve figured that out already? Thunder was loud, loud enough to jolt you even from the deepest of sleeps. The thing is; Yuuri doesn’t like loud things. Boo _hoo_ , poor him. What was he going to do now?

 

_Crash! Crackle!_

Yes, what _was_ he going to do now?

 

It wasn’t like thunder was going to take pity on him, it wasn’t like the fiery electric bolts of nature would see his trembling form and think _oh, what a poor pathetic human I must immediately stop my mayhem to preserve this man’s dignity-_ no. Thunder isn’t like that. Thunder will rage on and on, crackling and booming over the horizons so loud it will make your knees buckle due to the intensity.

 

And that’s what Yuuri did.

 

His knees buckled underneath him and he could feel the strain in the knees of his suit, all the while the thunder around him crackled and blared into his ears, straight to his heart. For some reason, that thunder was accompanied by sparkly dresses, disco lights, and malicious sneers.

 

The thunder shouted into the sky. Yuuri could hear the words laced within the booms-

 

_“You fat pig!”_

_“You really thought for a chance that-“_

_“Seeing you makes me want to puke-“_

_Crash! Crackle!_

Oh, was Yuuri going crazy, you may ask? How could you hear words within the thunderous screams?

 

But for Yuuri, the question was more like; how could you hear the thunderous screams within the words?

 

_Crash! Crackle! Bang!_

Yuuri hates loud things, hates them with a fiery passion enough for an avenging superhero looking for attention in some sort of Marvel franchise. But mostly, he hated the way he felt at that moment. How his suit strained against his fat, pudgy skin, how his heart clenched with every breath, how the upbeat music in the background mixed in with the _screams-_

Stop.

 

Time stops.

 

Time stops everything but him.

 

Finally, somebody, _something_ , took pity on him. The glasses froze in midair, the devil faces of his college mates stuck on their faces, and nothing moved but him.

 

Yeah… Maybe Yuuri _was_ going crazy.

 

Or maybe it was because of lack of oxygen? Could be both… Who knows?

 

So Yuuri took the initiative and _ran_.

 

He ran out of that event like his life had depended on it, and to be honest, Yuuri felt like it did. Yuuri ran out of the dance, away from the judging eyes and mean words, and into the _real_ thunder.

 

It felt good, at the least. To feel the rain seep into your skin was sort of like a blessing. It was like a wakeup call, reminding you that you’re _alive._

Yuuri doesn’t want to be alive at the moment.

 

He knows it was a self desiccating sentence, but he could not bring himself to care.

 

So he sits himself down unto the middle of the parking lot, throwing away the soggy suit jacket and just letting the rain drown him and the thunder above deafen him.  

 

 

* * *

 

 

Yuuri was a big boy, wasn’t he?

 

Unfortunately, the answer was _yes_ because of hypothetical and literal reasons. Yuuri was, _literally,_ a big boy. You’d try to squeeze his thighs and you’d barely reach halfway through. 

 

But Yuuri didn’t care. His parents didn’t care. His sister didn’t care. His dog didn’t care. The few handful he called ‘friends’ didn’t seem to care either.

 

So why should he care?

 

He didn’t care.

 

Until he did.

 

So Yuuri locked himself in his room, caring and caring and caring, letting these phrases and sentences and orthodoxies run through his brain until he felt his mind literally _cramp_. He thought of college and the fact that he’d never have the courage to show his face there again. He thought of the times people had drawn pig emojis into his binders. He thought of their words, on how they usually flew over him but were now barreling back at him like an avalanche.

 

He thought of that one night, and how he hoped and dreamed and made a fool of himself.

 

Yuuri would’ve stayed there and almost succumbed into death if only his sister and dance instructor hadn’t barreled down his door and hauled him out.

 

“If my brother has any reason to be depressed-“ Mari grunts through clenched teeth as she tries to shimmy Yuuri out the door. “It would only because I ate his katsudon-“

 

“Mari, no.” Yuuri whines helplessly as he tries to clutch at his bed. “I don’t wanna- I’m not even in the _mood_ for Katsudon-“

 

Mari had gasped, and asked Yuuri what he had done to his brother.

 

“Your brother’s dead.” Yuuri grunts darkly as he rolls back into his covers.

 

Eventually, later on, Mari _does_ find a way to bribe him out the door. However, it involved lots of yelling, tears, and a heart to heart talk. You’d find them an hour later by the beach, eating ice cream and smiling contentedly.

 

  

* * *

 

Yuuri couldn’t drown out the thunder, no matter what he did.

 

The booming was still there, it still haunted him and shook him to his very core, but he couldn’t do anything about it.

 

He’d almost given up eating all together, and his family was worried.

 

He couldn’t help it. The moment he raises a spoon to his face, the thunder rolls in.

 

_Crash! Crackle-_

 

But he studied once, in Physics or chemistry or whatever class he attended back in his delusionary year in college, that clothes had the power to absorb sound.

 

Or maybe clothes deflected sound? He wasn’t sure. He _was_ in a daze for the past few months.

 

But whatever the answer may be, he knew he had to try.

 

So he took the fabrics and the needles and the frills and gathered his trustworthy weapons… And by trustworthy weapons, he meant this battered, worn out sewing machine his mother gave him and a mannequin with frayed seams.

 

And he was right. Clothes and fabric blocked out the thunder.

 

Fashion was one thing, but _designing_ was another. Yuuri loved the way new things, _new things,_ spun out of his hands with seemingly no effort. It was almost like a Disney movie. He half expected birds and squirrels and other woodsy creatures would scamper into his makeshift studio and sing whenever he made a new skirt.

 

So he was thankful.

 

Thankful for the silence. Thankful for the fabric.

 

 

* * *

 

 

This was good… This was new.

 

“We’d want what’s best for you, sweetheart.” Yuuri’s mother, a mother he does not deserve, smiles at him from across the table. “It’s up to you if you want to continue college somewhere else, we understand…”

 

Yuuri tries not to cringe at the memories that flew by his head at the sentence. Instead he- _oh would you look at that a letter invitation from Celestino Cialdini-_

Yuuri can’t fool himself. He’d read that letter one too many times, and he’d only received that letter yesterday to be frank. Albeit he’d fawned over the contents of the letter, he’d have to smack himself repeatedly just so he could absorb what was written.

 

It was an invitation, a beckoning from one of the best fashion designers to ever step foot on this planet. The letter was like a quiet plea, but the temptation was too much for Yuuri to handle.

 

 **To:** Katsuki Yuuri

 **From:** Celestino Cialdini

( **Via:** Arthur Gonzales (Asst.))

 

Greetings of peace!

 

We have received your portfolio and application letter, albeit we have to apologize for the lack of time and the spontaneity of this letter, but the board has agreed that it would not hurt to have a new addition to our trainees, judging from the potential we have seen in your sketches.

 

We now invite you to join _Aspirare_ ™, a program created to help train young and aspiring fashion protégés to help them blossom into the busy fashion industry and assist them in developing the needed skills and talents needed for such work.  

 

If you wish to accept, please contact us here: ( **XXX-XXX-XXX)**

Or please send us an email here: ([jshdgjhnbs@gmail.com](mailto:jshdgjhnbs@gmail.com)) 

 

We wish to hear from you soon.   

 

* * *

 

Packing up and knowing the inevitable was sort of easy, but saying goodbye at the airport? It was harder. 

 

It wasn’t like Yuuri hadn’t left for another country before… He’d done that in Detroit, wherein he was young and fresh and eighteen and ready to keep pursuing on with college… 

 

As far as college goes, it didn’t turn out so well. 

 

But today he is different. Today, he is stronger and braver and willing to forget everything that had happened in Detroit behind and leave them for good. He was an aspiring designer who has big dreams and has just been invited by _Celestino motherfucking Cialdini._ He was Katsuki Yuuri, brave and bold and- 

 

Afraid. 

 

Okay, slightly. 

 

But there was no time for fear, no time for it at all.  

 

He wasn’t going to let the thunder get to him, not anymore. 

 

So he hugs his family goodbye, a few tears and words are exchanged, and he leaves with his bottom lip trembling with tears threatening to fall from his eyes.    

 

* * *

 

 

When somebody mentions Paris, somebody is going to include wine, rose petals, saucy violin music, raunchy kissing, love, and every other fucking cliché you could find in an angsty teen’s Tumblr blog. 

 

When Yuuri he arrives at Paris, he knew the clichés were right. 

 

He barely got to acknowledge the amazing scenery before he finds himself in the main corridors of France’s finest fashion training facilities.

 

If you’d look at Yuuri, you’d describe him as a… as a… as a fawn of sorts. His eyes were always so wide and so brown and every time he hears a sound he jumps. He’s like an amazed toddler in a museum, and you’d never know if you were to be perplexed or be adored at the sight of him. 

 

When Yuuri got to the dormitories, he was shaking.

 

Well, so much for his 'no time for fear' monologue awhile ago.

 

He’d never lived with someone before; back in Detroit he had his own apartment. The thought of having someone share the same personal space and room as him makes him nervous. He was worried. What if his roommate was a burly, muscled guy that looks like he’d strangle Yuuri at any given moment? What if his roommate was secretly a blood sucking vampire who particularly likes type AB (Yuuri’s own blood type) blood? What if what if what if- 

 

“Um, hello?” A soft voice says. Yuuri turns around to see a man with brown skin and a smile that could incapacitate enemies from afar. “Katsuki Yuuri? Hi! I’m your new roommate. Nice to meet you-“ 

 

Later on, Yuuri finds out that he’s named Phichit, loves hamsters, apparently plays RPG games too, will agree that Nylon fabrics are an abomination in this world, and is now his best friend. 

 

If it wasn't totally obvious, yeah, they get along pretty well. 

 

(No, it’s most definitely not because they both agree on the fact that Polyester is the devil incarnate, but because Phichit is the only person who could beat him in Dungeon Hunter)    

 

* * *

 

 

In every career, there is this one snake. It’s this one thing that you loathe about your career; no matter how much you actually love it. It doesn’t have to be a person; it’s usually an object or artifact.

 

For fashion (and for Yuuri), it’s the tape measure. 

 

“You’d make a good model.” One of his professors point out as Yuuri measured out a roll of silk on a work table. “You have the looks and the height, but your body structure is just… blegh.” 

 

Yuuri smiles weakly, trying to not let the statement get to him. “Thank you.” 

 

This woman was supposed to grade him and tell him if this shirt he was working on sucked or did not suck. Why was she lecturing him about his body rolls? He did not know.

 

“I’m telling you, kid, that you have potential in other professions.” The woman, old and with graying hair but with a nose that Yuuri would impale himself unto, says with a grin that Yuuri cuould make out as a sneer. “You’d just have to give up a few rice bowls now and then, huh?” 

 

Yuuri decides to skip out on eating with Phichit and the others that night.   

 

* * *

 

 

Yuuri is well aware of the hands that have thrown his portfolio to the floor. 

 

“The structures of the tiers are _horrendous!_ ” The woman screeches, sending more papers flying away.

 

Yuuri simply stares, but he feels the floor sway under his feet.

 

“And what type of cardigan is _this?_ A preschool drawing assignment? You’ve gotta be kidding me-“ 

 

Yuuri swallows thickly. “Ma’am, I’m sorry. I’ve tried all I can-“ 

 

“This isn’t your _best,_ Yuuri! I _know_ that!” The woman says now, not angry but exasperated. “The collections you’ve sent in before were _stunning,_ out of this world!” The woman sighs. “What happened?” 

 

Yuuri just looks down, feeling his eyes water as he remembers last night’s phone call.  _“_

 

 _Yuuri? We have something to tell you… It’s about Vicchan-_ “ 

 

“I’ve been through a… a lot lately.” Yuuri murmurs, willing himself to finally look up. “I’ve got a lot of things to work out at home, and-“ 

 

“Yuuri, when you’re in the fashion industry, no executive isn’t going to go ‘ _oh boo hoo, you’ve been feeling sad or lonely or whatever so now I’m going to forgive you for the lousy pieces you’ve been sending in’-_ no!” The woman says, authority dripping in her tone. “It doesn’t work that way!”  

 

Yuuri doesn’t know what to think, what to do, or what to say. But he’s surprised. Despite this woman’s harsh, unforgiving words… 

 

There is no thunder. 

 

“Either you mope around and sulk _or_ find a way to channel your emotions to your creations to create stunning clothes, you’re not going anywhere in life Katsuki. And I’m not letting that happen.”   

 

* * *

 

 

Yuuri felt like he could die. 

 

“It’s alright if you don’t want to come to the Berlin Fashion Week with me, I’ll respect your decisions,” Celestino Cialdini, _the_ Celestino Cialdini, says nonchalantly, as if the offer he’d just given Yuuri wouldn’t change his life forever. “But I’d say that this event will open a lot of doors for you.” 

 

Actually, he’d give anything and _everything_ to not die. Just let God or whatever ominpotent creature up there sacrifice the whole human population for all he cares. 

 

“If you decide to continue in this field, then I can set your future for you by introducing you to a few Fashion executives? Surely they would love your work and eventually one will snag you up-“ 

 

Yuuri hugs Celestino.  

 

Normally he’d be a very closed off and non-touchy sort of guy and sneezing in his direction could send him scurrying off, but now, _now,_ he felt like he could hug all of the students in this institution because _holy fuck he’d just been invited to Berlin Fashion Week h o l y  f u c k-_  

 

* * *

 

 

His cheeks felt like ancient porcelain glass that could fall off at any moment because he _couldn’t stop smiling-_  

 

“Your sketches are astounding!” 

 

“Have you even graduated yet? Do you even _need_ to graduate?” 

 

“The details are so beautiful I feel like I’m going to cry-“ 

 

Yuuri soaked in the praises, the songs of pleasure and satisfaction as fashion designers and executives nearly twice his age commend his work.  

 

Aparently, Celestino has sent out Yuuri’s whole portfolio to his whole armada of Designer comrades even before the event. During the afterparty, when the first of them started to aproach Yuuri, Yuuri nearly spills his champagne everywhere. Now, the event is ending. Yuuri didn’t want the night to end, _never_ wanted the night to end, but it was inevitable. However, as Celestino and Yuuri bid their goodbyes to the main hosts and hostesses of the banquet thereafter, a voice calls out Celestino’s name. 

 

Celestino perks up, and they both turn to see a woman with cheekbones that could cut Yuuri’s skin open and a gaze that could match a military agent’s. But it doesn’t faze Celestino as he smiles and waves enthustiastically.

 

“Lilia! Good friend, how are you?” 

 

“Good.” Lilia mumbles with an accent on her tongue. She saunters over to them with her bodyguards in tow and her silver heels _clack clack clacking_ on the floor with crystal clear audio.

 

“I’ve been looking for you.” 

 

Celestino raises an eyebrow. “Me? Why, that’s very-“ 

 

“Don’t flatter yourself, old man.” Lilia snaps, voice strangely flat despite the sharp tone. “I meant your protégé.” She throws a pointed look at Yuuri, and Yuuri squeaks when she walks up to him. 

 

Lilia Baravnoskaya, editor-in-chief for the famous magazine ‘European Homage’, looks down at Yuuri like he is a tiny little ant. “I’ve been watching you for the whole majority of the banquet, seeing all the praises and gooey recognition you’ve gotten. And I just have to say…” 

 

 _Well, that’s not creepy at all._ Yuuri thinks, eyes wide. _If she’s about to complement my work, she has a weird way of doing it then-_  

 

“…that you don’t get used to it, do you hear me?” Lilia snaps, and Yuuri’s eyes managed to widen even more. 

 

What. 

 

“I can already tell that you’re young, stupid, and inexperienced.” Lilia huffs, and Yuuri starts to tremble. “In the industry, no one will come up to you and spit sugar coated words at your face. You’ll either get catastrophic, mildly acceptable, or adequate. You’d be lucky enough if you reach ‘mildly acceptable’-” 

 

Yuuri opens his mouth, letting out a few choked out words, feeling the walls around him sway as he anticipated the _thunder-_

 

“But I’m not a person who likes wasting things, and that includes your talent and potential.” 

 

Yuuri’s heartbeat stops, the walls stop swaying, what what what- 

 

“So if you don’t want to end up in the reject pile, I’d like you to work under me once you’ve graduated.” Yuuri acknowledges the small business card being shoved in his hands by perfectly manicured nails. “You need someone to harness your potential and keep you working, and I believe I could turn a man of incompetence…” 

 

She looks at Yuuri from his dainty little dress shoes to his hair. “… To someone worthy of the industry.” 

 

She then leaves, hips swishing and Yuuri confused but never been more enlightened in his life.  

 

* * *

 

 

Yuuri graduates and moves to New York to train under Lilia Baravnoskaya. 

 

He’s currently laying in bed, closing his eyes and repeating the sentence. 

 

 _Yuuri graduates and moves to New York to train under Lilia Baravnoskaya._  

 

He simply cannot believe it. 

 

If his young self were to see his state now he’d be proud of himself for the first time in his young life.  

 

When he goes to sleep, he goes to sleep smiling.  

 

* * *

 

 

“How about we make a pseudonym for you, no?” 

 

Yuuri looks up from the work desk to send a questioning glance at the woman across from him. 

 

“Why would I need a pseudonym?” 

 

Lilia scoffs, inspecting her nails (which were always perfect by the way). “Are you comfortable with your name displayed on multiple billboards and brand signs for the whole world to see?” 

 

Yuuri opens his mouth, finds that he has no answer, and closes it shut. 

 

“I thought so,” Lilia smirks. “I have always noticed this about you, but you are not really confident about your name.” 

 

Yuuri grits his teeth, wondering how easily people could read him. He just nods as he continues to work. He and Lilia were going over the sequence of the next Fashion Week they hosted, and he wondered why on Earth she had managed to bring that subject up. 

 

“Now, I wouldn’t care enough to ask, but I wouldn’t want you to be incompetent just because your name is plastered on a screen.” Lilia sighs, and Yuuri gulps at the sentence. “You are about to debut as an official designer and your collection will be displayed this New York’s Fashion Week. This is big, Yuuri, but what would I submit to the coordinators then, hm?” 

 

Yuuri thinks. 

 

He thinks.

 

And thinks. 

 

Finally, he flashes Lilia a smile. 

 

“Don’t worry, I’ll think of something.” 

 

* * *

 

  _“And now, last but definitely not the least, we have **Uprise** as the last Summer collection to be displayed! Designed and intigrated by none other than renown Fashion Designer, **Y.K**!”_  

 

* * *

 

 

Now that the years have gone by, Yuuri had learned that time won’t stop for him anymore. When he’s in a sticky situation, time won’t freeze and let him think of an escape plan. He’d have to deal with all on his own, which… sucks. 

 

But life does suck, and he knows that. Has experienced it first hand, and hoo boy… Time and fate were assholes. Complete A-grade assholes. 

 

But Yuuri couldn’t blame time and fate. Life had the knack of turning unsuspecting people into assholes.

 

Yuuri wasn’t sure if he was one, but he’d never wanted to. Never meant to. But the Fashion Industry was mainly consisted of assholes, and there’s nothing changing that. If you were to be that kind of person who made everyone casserole every meeting then you’ll just be wasting good casserole on people who don’t want it stained on their designer shirts. Not everyone could be your friend, you’d have to claw and fight your way to survive.

 

And what does Yuuri want to do? 

 

Survive.

 

And that’s exactly what he did. 

 

* * *

 

 

He was so stupid. 

 

“Sir? What time should we pick you up-“

 

He was so, _so,_ stupid.  

 

“Pick me up in two hours. I’d want to spend as less time in this garbage as possible.” Yuuri huffs as he gets out of the car, not really meaning his words…

 

Okay, he _maybe_  meant those words. 

 

Don't judge him, alright?

 

He bids the car goodbye before looking up at the old building. 

 

Ah, his old college. 

 

Full of good ol’memories. 

 

Ha. 

 

He walks up and through the gate, waving his old ID in the guard’s direction who merely stared at him in amazement. He walks through the old grounds, feeling the wet grass crunch under his shoes.

 

It was like in a black and white portrait. Everything was the same but also _not_ the same. There were new faces, fresher and younger and most of them had stared at Yuuri when he walked by.

 

Yuuri didn't mind. People didn't exactly know the 'real' him and what he has done and made, but people stared anyways. He wasn't sure why. He wore a casual button up and pants that day along with a cardigan, stylish yet relaxed (he nearly wore that leather jacket but Phichit told him he looked like a drunk punk looking for attention. Thank God he followed his advice) his clothes didn't seem too flashy, did they silently judge him or whisper things about him? He wasn't sure, but he doesn't care.

 

Not anymore.

 

There, at the main hall, alumni were gathering for protocall before they’re rallied to perspective rooms to ‘interact’. He hasn’t even entered the hall yet, people have started to notice his form. He hands the invitation to one staff by the entrance, dismissing the warm greeting the man starts to chirp out and instead focuses on what's overhead.

 

Yuuri stares up at a large banner that hang overhead the doors, waving to him like some demented circus clown. 

 

“ **Welcome back Class of 2001!”**

 

Yuuri smiles, his smile far from friendly.   

 

* * *

 

 

Was his butt big? Yuuri ponders discreetly as he wiggles in his chair, the plastic seat shifting a little as he tries to find a comfortable position to sit in. Either American School Systems still had to much of a shitty funding to cover their chairs or Yuuri was growing, he wasn’t sure. 

 

All alumni were gathered in a room to check attendance. Most of Yuuri’s companions were people wearing plaid, greasy men, or girls with too much eyeliner. Most of the eople here have... matured, some not really and the others too much. One man has wrinkles on his face already, and he and Yuuri were at the same age for fucks sake. Albeit some faces stuck out to him, Yuuri doesn’t even remember half of the people in the room. Yuuri was wondering why he even bothered to attend this reunion…  

 

Until he does. 

 

And he smiles as he relaxes against his seat. 

 

The administrator starts to call out names, her voice shrill and loud. 

 

This would be fun. 

 

One by one, the lady starts to call out names. A few stuck out to Yuuri, he or she could've been a fond friend back then… If he had any. A few of which Yuuri never really took note of. A few made Yuuri want to shove a pencil up their throats, just the mere mention of the names made him _boil…_

 

But he collects himself. 

 

And he smiles. 

 

“Viktor Nikiforov?” 

 

A few people perk up at the name, a few whisper, a few giggle. Most of them smiled in admiration. 

 

Yuuri’s stomach coils.

 

His stomach didn't coil in hate or disgust.

 

It was something else.

 

( _or maybe it was because of the cinnabon he ate awhile ago? He hoped it was)_

 

"Here.” A rish, deep vocie calls out. Unintentionally, Yuuri’s attention diverts to a man a few chairs away from him. 

 

Just like everybody else, Nikiforov too has matured. 

 

It wasn’t like Yuuri hadn’t seen Viktor before, no. He has … Multiple times if Yuuri were to answer honestly. But mostly it was through commercials and Runways. Honestly, who _hasn't_ seen Viktor Nikiforov before? Sharp cheekbones, beautiful blue eyes, shining silver hair... Yuuri doesn’t know how much he remembers Viktor, the Viktor he met at college. All he remembers is long silver hair and blue eyes that used to be softer and… 

 

Something that hurt him, deep inside.

 

He wasn’t sure if Viktor still remembers him, but he’d be okay with that. 

 

Because whatever impression he left back then at college was something he’d rather forget himself. 

 

Yuuri swallows thickly, letting old memories pass by. 

 

“Katsuki Yuuri?” 

 

More than a handful of people jolt at his name, numerous smile teasingly at one another, and a few slink further down into their chairs… 

 

Yuuri doesn’t notice a certain Russian man perk up and look around the room, blue eyes wide and knowing. 

 

Yuuri smiles. 

 

The last time Yuuri had been with these people, he’d been surrounded by thunder. 

 

But now, it was different.

 

Now, _he’s_ the thunder.

 

And he’s going to destroy them all. 

 

Yuuri, flashing an award winning smile, raises his hand and calls out with the clearest of voices. 

 

“Here!”

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AHHHHHH DID I DO IT RIGHT? DID I? DID I?
> 
> Well, here it all starts fam! I've been trying to do a Fashion & Couture AU for so long and all my last drafts were just... blegh. Hopefully, you all would like this! Fingers crossed!


	2. if they give you a new pill then you will buy it

Yuuri was thankful for whatever omnipotent creature above for making him immune to the thunder in his life.

 

He doesn’t go deaf anymore, he doesn’t tremble at the _Crash! Crackle_ as the years have gone by, which he was happy for. Yuuri never liked loud things. The absence of the loud booms calmed him, made him smarter and mature… and much more cunning.

 

But that doesn’t mean that the thunder was gone.

 

 _Boom! Crash!_ It was here, it was there… It was everywhere! Wake up sunshine; you’re in the fucking fashion industry. Thunder was _everywhere._ Yuuri, who’d gone through everything in life, has heard more than enough.

 

_“You think you can survive in this place?”_

_“Such an amateur…”_

_“-waste of space.”_

…

 

Oh, did you expect Yuuri to run? Did you expect him to cry? Did you expect him to make an entire monologue on how shitty and unfair life was?

 

(Okay, maybe in the first few times he did, but it was understandable alright? Shut up-)

 

But he accepted it. He accepted the harsh words, the cruel commentaries… Accepted them wholly and fully, weaving the cold demands into his designs and letting them blossom into something of his own. He hears the thunder, but it does not bother him anymore.

 

What he hears, nowadays, are different.

 

_Clack… Clack… Clack…_

Ahh, do you hear that?

 

_Clack… Clack… Clack…_

 

It’s the sweet orgasmic sound of heels _clacking_ on the floor.

 

(He’d always wondered why people favor marble so much when they choose the floor tiles of Fashion buildings, now he knows why)

 

He _loves_ the sound of it. It was soft and melancholic, almost therapeutic. Plus, you’d feel like mother-effin Beyonce walking around, and everybody wants to feel like mother-effin Beyonce once in a while, right? Even Yuuri. Sometimes he’d go to work wearing heeled men’s shoes just to hear the sound come from himself, not from some busty coworker who thought she was too good for him.

 

Actually, lots of people thought they were too good for him.

 

Ahhh… If they only knew.

 

Yuuri couldn’t blame them. When Yuuri was first introduced to the European Homage staff, he’d been introduced as nothing but a mere secretary ready to do desk jobs and other worldly secretary things. Never would they have guessed that he would be so, _so_ much more.

 

Yuuri, who wore a coat, jeans, and boots that day (he’d wear something more fashionable but it was over _30 degrees outside for fuck’s sake-_ ), Yuuri who was shy and didn’t look at anyone in the eye, Yuuri who sat by quietly at his desk whilst fiddling with a stapler to buy some time…

 

Yuuri, who was Lilia’s golden designer.

 

And nobody even knew.

 

(that was a lie, there were a few who knew, but only a few… right?)

 

(no?)

 

(goddamn it celestino)

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Yuuri was aware he had a knack for breaking things.

 

Hm… Let’s see, should we list this? I think we should. 1.) One time he broke a sewing machine in the designers department and he had to pay over 120$ just for it 2.) He broke Phichit’s high score in Mario Kart and the Thai wouldn’t stop crying for an hour 3.) The other day he chipped one of Sala’s perfectly manicured nails and she screeched so loud every glass in the near fifty meter radius shattered beyond existence…

 

But most of these were… insignificant (except for the sewing machine because oh my fucking god that machine was expensive) and Yuuri would almost forget them instantly. Nothing too big, a broken glass, a square of fabric, shattered fake gems…

 

And…

 

Hm…

 

What else?

 

Oh yeah, the time he broke the internet?

 

Yeah… that would be a broken thing he would remember.

 

* * *

 

 

_“And now we have an unnamed Fall collection designed and integrated by none other than designer Y.K!”_

Instantly, almost 60% of the crowd had perked up at the name. It was almost like a dandelion field with the people swaying and standing upright at the wind.

 

Time passed, and they could all remember the first time the name was let out unto the world; the glorious bi-annual New York Fashion Week. At first the people were hesitant and a little unsure, never hearing the name before, never seeing the designs either. What could a rookie designer do to survive in this world of heteronomy? They sneered and smirked and underestimated the name-

 

Until they saw the outfits.

 

Gentle, soulful, calming even despite the upbeat background music. The moment the models began to walk time seemed to slow, letting the people appreciate the garments for once. Splashes of color, soft, quiet yet loud at the same time.

 

That was the day the audience had learned that Y.K spoke through his/her creations; he’d woven statements and words into the fabrics. The words… quiet but they held a crackling intensity, just beneath the seams… just beneath the colors. It was like… It was like…

 

It was like thunder.

 

So they eagerly sat in their seats, waiting, wanting to hear the quiet and graceful words of this mysterious designer through the clothes…

 

What they got was far from quiet.

 

_Boom! Crash!_

 

The first model starts to walk, and everybody finds themselves staring up at a very large plus sized woman. Her body strutting and hips moving and everything about her just rained _confidence._ The crowd had gasped, multiple murmurs of unintelligible statements bounced back and forth. But the model didn’t seem to care; all she had was a proud smirk on her face.

 

She was followed by a male plus sized model who was greeted with the same reactions, but the whispers and gasps were now much more apparent.

 

Soon, more plus sized women and men had begun to strut out onto the runway; each of them had an aura of sophistication and confidence that could not match anyone else’s. People tried to sneer, tried to bite out profanities and _why are they here? Why did they allow this? That type of structure isn’t meant to walk the runway this is preposterous and barbaric-_

They tried, they tried to let out the shame and curses and anything to let out their frustrations. But they can’t.

 

Why?

 

It’s because Y.K made those clothes, and the clothes were telling them something.

 

_Boom! Crash! Crackle-_

The clothes were _beautiful_ , exquisite and elegant but they would be the type that you would always see people wearing casually. If you’d see someone wearing them on the street you would stare and appreciate the fact that you’d probably be too broke to afford them.

 

The clothes hugged the model’s bodies, but they didn’t seem to strangle them unlike most designer clothing. They gave the women’s bodies’ shapes, giving them elegant curves and hips all the while not forcing their body structures to be smaller. The clothing the male models had had emphasized their broad shoulders and chests, making their strides prouder and firmer. The models were free and happy, walking on the runway without hesitation.

 

_BOOM! CRASH! CRACKLE!_

_DO YOU SEE US?_ The fabric, the seams, the sequins all screamed, glinting and shining under the lights. _WE’RE HERE, WE’RE OUT, WHAT CAN YOU DO ABOUT IT? THERE’S NOTHING! THERE’S NOTHING YOU CAN DO!_

The people, the audience, just resorted to staring slack jawed. There is nothing they can do. They can’t complain about the designs, the clothing had exceeded exquisite. One model, blonde with swaying hips and a very elegant black dress, winked at the audience. None of the models didn’t seem to care about the rather… shocked reaction of the people.

 

They were all silent.

 

This was scandalous. No designer in history has ever… has ever tried to attempt… _this,_ up. Y.K would be viral, the designer would surely pop up in more than numerous articles. The nerve, _the boldness!_ The audience was too dumbfounded to even _speak…_

 

Until one little girl by the back started clapping.

 

Then another, then another, then another then another then another then another-

 

The room was full of applause, even as the last model has disappeared behind the curtain. A few women were actually crying happily, stating how _this will be a major breakthrough in fashion history._ A few others shook their heads, rather… displeased. The reactions were mixed, but most were amazed. Sure, there were some who even walked out of the event, but the crowd cheered and cried and-

 

Unbeknownst to them, a quiet man sat by the back along with the audience. His brown eyes flit throughout the room, watching the discourse around him. He’d been here all throughout the show, watching quietly and worrying about… everything and nothing at the same time.

 

Smiling contentedly, he runs his hand through his dark, messy hair before standing up and leaving.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

After the show, Yuuri avoided the internet like the plague.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

The next day Yuuri sees Lilia poring over a mountain of paperwork on her desk, and she looks pretty damn grumpy (which was an understatement because Lilia _always_ looks grumpy).

 

Yuuri gulps for a moment as he gathers what’s left of his courage before he enters her office. He was just previously relaxing in the lounge area with a few coworkers, after a busy show everybody was off their workload for a while so they had time to just kick their feet up... Until Yuuri was called to Lilia’s office, and he felt his blood run cold.

 

“Yuuri? Come, I have to talk to you.” Lilia says, not even looking up from the paper she was currently reading.

 

Yuuri bites his lip nervously as he approaches her desk, heart starting to pound. Yuuri smiles, and greets her good morning all the while thinking oh _god,_ what did he do what did he do what did he _do?_ Was it about the last Fashion show? Did reporters and press swarm the building and Lilia decides to take out her fiery wrath on _him_ because _that collection was his idea_ -

 

“Yuuri, do you know _why_ I’m currently torturing myself through this _endless_ pile of papers?” Lilia asks, voice strangely flat and monotone and Yuuri wanted to run for his life.

 

“No, I do not-“ –was the only thing Yuuri could manage to choke out. He was now trying to mentally write his will just in case if he dies, if so then Phichit would get his DS, Mari can keep his leather boots, and his parents can keep his ashes (he wants to be cremated okay?) and the rest of Yuuri’s cash.

 

“Well, _all_ of this-“Lila gestures a dainty hand towards the papers, sharp green eyes snapping to his. “-is because of you.”

 

Yuuri prepares for the sweet release of death. If you were able to pick between a chainsaw and Lilia’s wrath, you’d happily pick the chainsaw.

 

“Is it about the last show?” Yuuri cringes, fingers curling in on themselves. Lilia just purses her lips.

 

“Yes, and I have to say… You’re really giving me a tough time, Yuuri. I can’t believe you do this to me.” Lilia shakes her head, voice low and flat as she grabs one paper from the pile.

 

Yuuri bites his lip, starting to hear the _thunder_ and the _screams_ start to grow louder and louder.

 

He thought he was immune… He thought he was used to it-

 

He wasn’t so sure anymore.

 

“I mean, _look_ at this-“ Lilia hands Yuuri the paper she just took before looking at him expectantly.

 

Yuuri was sure he had already dampened the paper because his hands were so _sweaty_ ; He was hoping he didn’t damage it or Lilia will surely damn him to hell, and Yuuri was a good and pure boy, so damning him to hell would be hard but apparently not for Lilia.

 

“ _Really,_ people these days are just so…” Lilia scoffs, but Yuuri drowns out Lilia’s voice just so he could save his own sanity.

 

The Japanese man sighs, closing his eyes briefly before reading the text on the paper.

 

 _What is it?_ You may ask. Well, Yuuri expected a restraining order, a warrant of arrest, or maybe the occasional death threat. Or maybe a fucked up fan letter? Or maybe-

 

**_Business Proposition_ ** _; In Regards to designer’s (Y.K) current Fall collection-_

Or maybe someone had decided to sue him? Make him pay the thousands of dollars that he did not have because of that one little Fall collection he insisted on having? Or was it the crazed press who were maybe outside the building right now-

 

_-an interest to stock the **whole** collection has been premised by the head staff and if the designer approves-_

Or maybe it was because-

 

“Yuuri.” Lilia snaps, bringing him out of his reverie. Yuuri jumps, his gaze snapping unto Lilia’s, who was looking at him confused. “Are you actually _reading_ the paper? Because-“

 

“U-Uh, I’m sorry! I’ll just…” Yuuri clears his throat and pushes his glasses up his face. Apparently he was too much of an anxious fuck; he wasn’t actually reading the page. And so with what’s left of his courage, he reads the paper.

 

And…

 

Um.

 

“What.”

 

Lilia sits up against her chair, eyebrows furrowed at him alongside with her narrowed eyes. “What do you mean ‘ _what_ ’?”

 

Yuuri’s eyes left the paper to stare at the woman by the desk, brown eyes impossibly wide.

 

“What.”

 

“Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me.” Lilia rubs a hand over her forehead in exasperation as she sighs in irritation. “Do you not _get_ what’s on that paper?”

 

Yuuri.exe has stopped working.

 

“We’re being flocked by buyers, Katsuki.” Lilia says gruffly and she gathers almost every paper on the table and shoves them in Yuuri’s trembling arms. “All that? Yeah, they’re retailers who want your collection in their stock. People want to _buy_ your designs Yuuri, do you not understand?”

 

Yuuri.exe is currently frozen in time because _what the f u c k-_

“A-Aaaaalll, of this?” Yuuri stutters out, staring down at the pile of invitations, proposals, business arrangements, quiet beckons that each scream _please pick me!!!! Pick meeeee!!!!!!!!!_

“B-But…” Yuuri murmurs out, voice a little wistful. “But _how?_ ”

 

Lilia shrugs. “Who knows? More than 60% of the American population is plus sized, and finding clothes for them is quite… difficult.” Lilia rests her chin on one dainty hand, watching Yuuri intently.

 

“You’ve made the right choice, Yuuri.”

 

Yuuri continues to stare down at the pile of papers in his arms like his newborn baby.

 

“Never had I come across a designer who had the guts to pull that off.” Lilia says a little fondly now, eyes gone soft. “I’m… I’m actually pretty proud.”

 

Yuuri’s gaze leaves the papers, and they fly to Lilia.

 

_Proud?_

A warm feeling in his chest blossoms.

 

_Yeah… Proud._

Lilia shakes her head, the warmth in her gaze slightly dissipating and now returning into the usual strict and cold boss Lilia always wore.

 

“Enough of this gooey nonsense. Now, are you going to help me sort this out or what? You’re the goddamn designer, so it’s your choice on which brand you want it stocked. I’m recommending that you pick a-“

 

That was three years ago.

 

Have you ever seen those little dinosaur toys that grow when you leave them in the water? Think about it; they’re these small little flakes of disappointment and they don’t look much at first, then you leave them in a mug of water overnight then _BAM!_ A triceratops looks back at you at its full size, almost bigger than your palm (but they’re much smaller than the _actual_ triceratops and that’s the only disappointing thing about the toy).

 

Yuuri was like that. You leave him in water, and he’ll grow. Except there’s thunder. And you know electricity and water are the _best_ of _fucking friends,_ so he’ll emerge not only _grown_ but so much more, _so_ much more.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

“Here!”

 

Yuuri lets out the sweetest of smiles, the one that shows your teeth and crinkles your eyes. He could almost feel the sun in between his gums because his smile was _that_ bright.

 

But his smile meant _so much_ more than being cheery. Oh god, it meant _so much more._ He had hoped that his voice was loud and clear, enough so you can hear him from the farthest of mountains.

 

He was certain that the whole room had heard his voice.

 

Have you ever watched Finding Nemo? That was a good movie, really. Do you remember that one scene where the clownfish and Ellen DeGeneres were on a pier and there were seagulls _everywhere?_ And they stared at the two fishies like they were the Messiah incarnate?

 

Yeah, everyone in the room were seagulls.

 

In 0.02 seconds everybody’s eyes were on him. In 0.02 seconds, everybody’s jaws have dropped. In 0.02 seconds, Yuuri could feel the smirk on his face start to grow.

 

He opted to smile that sweet, sweet smile once again.

 

The lady at the front raises an eyebrow. It wasn’t a cynical eyebrow nor was it judgmental, it was sort of a “ _are you serious or are you fucking with me_ ” eyebrow. “Katsuki Yuuri?” The woman says; a little comprehensive. “ _You’re,_ Katsuki Yuuri?”

 

Yuuri smiles and nods as he leans back his chair, the room still very silent with everyone too dumbfounded to speak.

 

The woman at the front blinks for a moment as she stares at her clipboard, before shaking her head and continuing on calling the names.

 

Yuuri is well aware of the stares that were pointed at him after.

 

(he isn’t aware of the blue eyed man never taking his eyes off him)

 

 

* * *

 

 

**_Yuuri:_ ** _hi mel, I changed my mind. Tell the driver to pick me up in another four hours or so_

**_Mel:_ ** _Sure sir, but may I ask why you changed your mind?_

**_Yuuri:_ ** _oh, its nothing. I figured it would be nice if I spend more time with my old college mates :)_

* * *

 

 

Yuuri could feel the contentment run itself through his veins, because _he is enjoying this._

All throughout attendance Yuuri had caught more than a handful of people gazing at him rather intrigued and disbelieving. At one point, one girl had the courage to lean to her friend and whisper when she thought he couldn’t hear them.

 

They were all like _is that Katsuki? The… The pi-_ and all like _Girl, don’t call him that because don’t you fucking see him? I’d ask him to step on me if I had the chance-_

After that, he’d decided not to eavesdrop.

 

(Bad Yuuri. Bad Yuuri. Eavesdropping is bad, Yuuri.)

At some point in time, the host of the reunion had them all arrange the chairs in some sort of circle so now Yuuri had a nice view of every one of his past college mates (well, at least the ones who bothered to attend) and when somebody locked eyes with him, they squirmed under his brown eyed gaze.

 

However, Yuuri was starting to have second thoughts on how long he’s going to have to stay here, because the lady with the high and shrill voice had just said that they were going to do icebreakers and Yuuri refrained himself from rolling his eyes.

 

Apparently they play this game where the host points at you and you have to say a word with a starting letter that goes along the sequence of the alphabet. So… A, and somebody just blurts out ‘apple’ like the incompetent fuck they are, and the cycle continues. If you mess up, you go to the center and you have to answer a question or whatever yadda yadda blah blah-

 

A few people mess up from time to time and the host asks them questions like; “are you already married” or “do you have a job” and other nonsensical things that you would find in a nonsensical reunion.

 

At one point in time, Yuuri messes up.

 

He wasn’t paying attention, really, but he found the host shoving the microphone in his face, asking for a word that started with the letter F.

 

In his defense, Yuuri was distracted okay? Soon he finds himself stuttering out nonsense and everything that is not associated with the letter ‘F’, and the five second timer goes out and the host invites him to the middle.

 

Yuuri scowls internally, not really liking the fact that people now had a full view of him in the middle (which was really hypocritical of him since he’d just squawked out ‘HERE!” during attendance like an overly excited teenager). He thought of all the words that could’ve started with F, like ‘Fruit’ or ‘Face’ or maybe even ‘Fuck’, hell, ‘Fr esh Avoc ado’ would’ve done as well but _noooooo_ -

 

The host greets him, all cheery and happy, and this somehow makes Yuuri smile. He may be a cynical son of a bitch from time to time but he’s easily infected by laughs and all the happy things in the world.

 

Nothing, not even the fashion industry, can change that about him.

 

The host lets him pick a small slip of paper that had the question from a cup. The host takes it out of his hands before he could even unfold it.

 

“So, Yuuri.” The woman says, drawling out the vowels, letting her voice boom into the speakers. “The question is: ‘what is your current occupation right now?’”

 

Yuuri freezes for a moment, taken aback by the intrusive question.

 

_Should he…?_

Yuuri clears his throat as he tentatively takes the mic. He smiles contentedly.

 

“I work as an editor in a magazine.” Yuuri blurts out, albeit not really sure if he made the right decision.

 

Well… He wasn’t _technically_ lying.

 

A few people start to murmur, and Yuuri hears the words _editor?_ and _why?_ and _fashion???_ Here and there, and he understood why.

 

They were all together in the same room, right now, because they all took Bachelor of Arts and Design as their career. Why would he, why would _Yuuri_ , work as an editor instead?

 

Yuuri gulps, already imagining the rumors and gossip.

 

 _Of course._ He imagines one girl say. _He pulled out; he didn’t even finish the semester._ He imagines a sneering man laugh at this.

 

 _I wonder why…_ He imagines them laugh and point fingers at him. Yuuri imagines, and imagines, and _imagines-_

“I-In a fashion, magazine, I mean.” Yuuri murmurs out the next few words, unsure and _damn it! You’re supposed to be confident and badass! WHY!!! ARE!!! YOU!!! SCREWING!!! THIS!!! UP!!!-_

“Ooh, really?” The host says rather curiously. “Can you tell me what’s the _name_ of said magazine?”

 

Yuuri blinks, watching the people surrounding him.

 

“European Homage.”

 

(that wasn’t a lie either)

 

Multiple people perk up, some looked at him disbelievingly, and others started to whisper once more. Yuuri couldn’t blame their disbelief. European Homage was infamous for its rigorous and uptight reputation. One time, Paris Fashion Week was held off mainly because Lilia didn’t like the way the workers of the rival company had treated her staff. The magazine was easily respectable, one of the most sought after delegations in this world.

 

Yuuri had admitted that some of the rumors were correct. Lilia was a little iron fisted and blunt but Yuuri knew the woman had a softer side to her, not to mention the strict executives that worked behind the scenes and the stress inducing shows they hosted. Despite all that, Yuuri had strived and survived and fought his way through.

 

“Wow, okay we’re gonna need proof of that because that’s just…” The host says jokingly, but she stops short when Yuuri pulls a business card out of his pocket and hands them to her.

 

Yuuri smirks; opening his wallet to reveal a multitude of business cards (Lilia wants to scout as many recruits as she can, alright?). “I have fifty more from where that came from.” He says, watching their reactions with a contented smile on his face. “So, you need more proof?”

 

 _Do you see me now?_ He wants to yell at their stupid, greasy faces. _Do you see how far I’ve come? Do you see the error of your mistakes-_

But he cannot do so. At least… Not yet.

 

The host stares at the card like it was an artifact (it was made of hard-pressed ivory, so technically it was). “Well, you seem like you’ve achieved a lot in your life, Mr. Katsuki! Can you give us any advice? Because _I_ certainly need it!”

 

Yuuri stops short, tucking his wallet back in his pants.

 

“Advice?”

 

Yuuri smiles, eyeing everyone in the room.

 

“All I have to say… is that it’s all right if it doesn’t go well in the beginning,” Yuuri’s smile deepens as he tucks his hands into his pockets nonchalantly, and everybody slinks further down their chairs. He feels the intensity, the _crackling_ and electric jolts start to thrum through him, exiting through his mouth.

 

“Your success will be the best type of revenge, trust me.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Yuuri decides to leave after the games.

 

He waits for the game to finish before he receives a message from his driver that he’ll be arriving soon in twenty minutes or so. After the games the schedule said that there will be lunch by the dining hall. Yuuri bids goodbye, his thanks, and an apology on why he couldn’t stay longer to the host and coordinators before leaving.

 

Before going out to the gate, he enters a nearby bathroom for a quick moment. He sighs as he reminisces the graffiti borne stalls and the faint mildew before going to the mirrors and washing his hands and face.

 

At some point, he catches full sight of his reflection. Brown eyes round and angled and so… unreadable stared back at him. His hair, which was slightly wispy and damp at the edges due to the wash, stood slicked back and a little messy. His skin was dewy and wet. He probably looked like a mess.

 

But something nagged at him, something in his eyes just… made him feel uneasy.

 

The feelings, the _rage_ and _bitterness_ he had felt. That ultimate need for _revenge_ just made Yuuri’s stomach coil, not in satisfaction, but in disgust. _Why?_ Why did he have the need to prove himself to these people? They don’t matter, they _never_ mattered. He was now up high, where they could never, _ever_ , reach him again. Yuuri knew better, _thought_ better. And now that he had looked back, his actions seemed childish and irrational.

 

He’d thought of stopping the plan… _His_ plan. It didn’t seem to matter now that he has thought about it, and…

 

 _But they hurt you._ A snide little snake whispers, it’s the tape measure. Coiling and twisting around him, up and around his neck and rested next to his ear where Yuuri can see those numbers, numbers that defined you in this society, on the snake’s skin through the mirror. _They hurt you, and they kept on hurting you even when you begged them to stop._

_Now, you’re just going to let them do that?_ The snake continues, and Yuuri could see the evil little smirk on his face. _That’s nice… Too nice. You’ve been too nice for your whole life, Yuuri. It’s time you stop being nice for once, don’t you think?_

Yuuri nods and he realizes that there was no snake. There was no tape measure. He was all alone, and that smirk he saw on the snake earlier? It was on his own face, his mouth twisted into a sinister smile. And even when he was alone, he hears the words echo in his mind… words that were purely his own.

 

_This time, don’t stop even when they beg you to._

 

Yuuri wipes his face, erasing any trace of water or sin left. As he heads for the door, his phone buzzes. Yuuri guessed that it was the driver telling him to go out already. So he grabs his phone with one hand, pushes the bathroom door open with the other, and rounds the corner to exit the facility.

 

Being a millennial, Yuuri was too busy staring at his phone to realize that _oh no, I’m about to experience a very reoccurring cliché that happens in both fiction and film because-_ he suddenly collides with someone rather larger than him. No, it wasn’t like a “oops sorry” collision, it was like a “nearly bulldoze someone over so hard you accidentally drop your phone” collision.

 

Yuuri gasped, almost face planting backwards on the ground if only these strong (albeit gentle) hands catch him upright, and Yuuri was level with someone’s chest and _oh my god why does this person smell so good? Holy-_

“Are you alright?”

 

Shit.

 

Yuuri takes some time to stop staring at that (lean, broad) chest to finally look up and finally have an aneurysm for the first time in his life, which was an understatement because Yuuri was an anxious fuck 80% of the time.

 

He pushes himself off Viktor Nikiforov and he actually has to _shake_ the Russian’s hands off him because even if he’d stepped back, Viktor still held him like he was trying to keep him upright.

 

Is it okay for your arms to blush? Because from where Viktor held him, Yuuri was sure that place would probably be red. Now, if his arms had blushed, what would his face probably look like?

 

“I-I…” Yuuri coughs out, eyes briefly connecting with the man’s blue eyes gaze before flitting somewhere else, _everywhere_ but him. He clears his throat. “I’m fine.”

 

Yuuri is briefly aware of the nearby buzzing he could hear, and he nearly screeches as he rushes to grab his phone nearby that fell out of his hand during the collision. Apparently, Viktor does so too, and they both reach for the phone.

 

Yuuri yelps when their hands touch, feeling a small jolt in his system and _holy shit this is not normal_. Viktor pulls back, blue eyes wide whilst Yuuri was cursing the world and _why is this happening to me? Why am I experiencing every single cliché known to mankind? Why oh why oh why-_

“Oh, no…” Yuuri whimpers out, staring at his phone screen where, like an elegant spider web, a crack blossoms at the edge and extending slightly to the middle. It wasn’t that bad, but it was noticeable. And Yuuri wanted to cry. His phone was his baby, _his love;_ sure he’d dropped this thing before and maybe once in the water but his phone was like a WW2 veteran okay? How the fuck did this thing crack so easily just _now?_

“O-Oh… Oh I’m so sorry.” Viktor says, leaning closer to inspect the screen. “I’m really, _really_ sorry-“

 

Yuuri stares at the screen hopelessly for a few seconds, before sighing and shoving it back in his pocket. “I-It’s fine, really-“

 

“I can replace it, if you want.” Viktor proposes; a small pleading smile on his face.

 

“No, really, I can handle this.” Yuuri returns a small strained smile, finally looking at Viktor properly but also avoiding actual eye contact.

 

“Are you sure?” The Russian asks, one more time. Yuuri just nods coherently and Viktor smiles.

 

“Where are you going? The dining hall’s that way.” Viktor nods in the opposite direction, and Yuuri lets out a nervous chuckle.

 

“I’m actually leaving early…” Yuuri says, fidgeting a little. _Well, so much for confidence._ “You know, for work and stuff-“

 

“You must be really busy then?” Viktor quirks an eyebrow playfully. “I heard European Homage is rather sprightly.”

 

Yuuri chuckles a little, pursing his lips as he felt the atmosphere around him tense s little less. “You tell me.” He’s hit with the fact that Viktor had probably listened to his answer awhile ago, and had probably heard… what he said after that.

 

 _Fix yourself._ The snake hisses. _You’re not who you used to be back then._

 

Clearing his throat, Yuuri wills himself to stand up straight and look at the man in the eye, his expression serious and poignant. “Well… It was nice seeing you. If you don’t mind, I have to go-“

 

Yuuri makes a move to walk past the taller man and leave, but Yuuri gasps when Viktor suddenly grabs him by the arm and stop him in his tracks.

 

“Yuuri, wait.”

 

Yuuri’s eyes travel, to where Viktor’s hand had grabbed him to up his arm and finally to Viktor’s face. Yuuri examines Viktor’s eyes, shining and bright and blue and a little hopeful. Viktor jolted a little, as if grabbing him wasn’t something he meant to do.

 

All the while, Yuuri’s heart races a mile a minute.

 

“Uh…” Viktor breathes out, eyes flittering everywhere but most especially his face. “It was nice seeing you too.” Viktor finally let’s go of Yuuri’s arm, although it seemed a little tentative.

 

Yuuri smiles, before finally walking away.

 

This scene almost reminded Yuuri of something. Everything he was experiencing now brought him back to what may or may not have happened years, _years_ , ago. His shoes clacking on the floor tiles, the empty hallways screaming nothing but _loneliness,_ the way he felt like there was an unintentional void in his heart. Yuuri wasn’t sure, but he felt a pang in his heart.

 

_Why?_

Tentatively, Yuuri looks back one more time, glancing at the man who hadn’t walked so far away, like he stood there for a few minutes before eventually choosing to finally move. Yuuri watches the way Viktor moves, poised and tall and confident and-

 

_Wait…_

Yuuri’s eyes narrow, and before he could stop himself, he finds himself suddenly calling out; “Hey, Viktor?”

 

Yuuri cringes a little, remembering how the name had sounded on his tongue. Viktor, however, swung around so fast he almost looked like a drifting race car. “Yes?”

 

Yuuri’s head cocks to the side a little. “That… That’s a very nice coat.” His eyes narrow _a little bit_ more as he gains eye contact with the blue eyed gaze. “Where’d you get it?”

 

Viktor seemed… surprised at the sudden question. Yuuri hoped that Viktor thought he asked because Yuuri just wanted to get nice clothes, not because of… something else. Viktor looks down at the blue (obviously) designer coat he wore over a button up casually, as if it was nothing.

 

“Oh, this?” Viktor says. “It’s been a while since I bought this, so I don’t really remember where I bought it but…”

 

Viktor smiles a little, a soft twitch in his lips making him look almost like a child.

 

“But it’s made by my favorite designer, so-“

 

“Oh.” Yuuri manages to choke out. He’s hoping that his eyes weren’t as wide as he thought they would be because _oh my god-_

Viktor raises an eyebrow at him. “Do you want me to tell the name? Here-“

 

“No, no! It’s okay, I’m fine.” Yuuri starts to fast walk away, his heart racing. He flashes confused Viktor a shaky smile. “Goodbye!”

 

He pushes open the doors of the main hall and he walks out unto the Quad, squinting a little at the sunlight. He doesn’t notice the blue eyed man’s gaze following him, even as he exits the gates of the university in a rush.

 

There was the car already waiting for him. He slides in, and almost immediately, the car drives away. The driver peeks in the passenger mirror, and gives Yuuri a concerned look.

 

“Sir?” The kind, middle aged man asks from the driver’s seat. “Are you alright? You look a little shaken-“

 

“I’m fine.” Yuuri wheezes from the backseat, eyes still wide. “I’m just… never mind. Where to next?”

 

Lilia’s assistant looks at him questionably from the front seat. “Madame Baravnoskaya says to meet her in the office in thirty minutes. She says to hurry because both of you are going to settle… ‘disputes’ with the Fabric supplier.”

 

Yuuri sighs and nods, already knowing what he was going to do. Sure, he was excited to execute more of his ‘plan’, albeit he had planned this along with Lilia but… He was a little ‘shaken’, you can say.

 

Because…

 

He remembers it. When he was young and just starting out, Lilia had asked him to start on his first collection. Yuuri was lost and had art block and his nerves were starting t build up already and the deadline was coming up and-

 

So he created a normal looking blue coat.

 

At first he didn’t do anything major, just designed a blue coat. A normal, blue coat. And then he added a design in the seams, and a flap by the collar, and one by one he added these little additions that slowly transformed the coat into what he had wanted, what he had _liked._ Sure, it was simple but Phichit told him it looked classy and elegant.

 

It held a place in Yuuri’s heart because it was the first design he’d actually integrated into the Fashion world, the first design that came out on the runway, the first design that started everything.

 

And Viktor was wearing it.

 

Viktor said _it came from his favorite designer-_

“Sir?” The assistant asks from the passenger seat looks at him worriedly. “Do you need water? Ronald we might need to pass by the hospital he doesn’t look too well-“

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *whispers* yuuri's phone ships viktuuri, dats why it cracked so easily
> 
> pls pass it on
> 
> PLS READ:
> 
> I am well aware that the Fashion Industry has begun to broaden out their horizons and are now having plus sized models walk the runway, and that makes me very happy. I think that we should not limit fashion and clothing to only a certain type of body structure, and I'm glad that the industry is now beginning to realize that.
> 
> But in this universe that is not the case. In this universe fashion is much more closed off and more oppressed than what it is in the real world. Like it is written, no one has ever attempted to sponsor plus sized models since the media are much, _much_ , more into body shaming and such and they believe that only a certain size is fit to walk the runway. I know that this isn't right since more than 60% of the females in America are plus sized and that doesn't even count the males, but fortunately Y.K is a designer that has a voice and hopefully things would change once he starts to integrate more of his designs to fit social issues? (wink wink)
> 
> This doesn't even stop at just fashion. From what you've already read Yuuri is bullied for being rather chubby. Like I have said, the media and society in this universe is much more deeper into body shaming unlike our real world, so the bullying Yuuri has endured in this universe is much, much worse. That being said, the psychological toll on the people who undergo through said bullying has a much greater impact. 
> 
> In the future chapters, you will see what happened to make Yuuri so bitter about the so called 'thunder'. But for now, this is all you have to know.
> 
> Also, don't worry about Yuuri's "plan" because... You'll see more in the future chapters also ;) all the while, please do tell me if you guys like it! A simple comment or kudos can make my day!!!!!! :D
> 
> Now that that's out of the way, all I have to say is... HOLY S H I T-
> 
> Thank you all so much for the support! When I started this I didn't expect to get so much attention wow... over 600 kudos on the first chap? THANK YOU SO MUCH JSAKASASNX (shoutout to Claire_Dimlight becAUSE THE ART WAS BEAUTIFUL HOLY SHIT) ALSO shoutout to the wonderful people that messaged me! I'm dying of mushy happiness that my cold, dead heart has never felt before! :D
> 
> THANK YOU ALL SO MUCH! *DIES OF HAPPINESS*


	3. lately I've been losing sleep

Mark is just like any other guy.

 

He is a Caucasian male with the height of 5 foot 7. He wears button ups and dress shoes to work. He loves the occasional glass of whiskey. He likes looking at the sunsets.  He sometimes goes out partying with his friends when he’s not buried in a pile of his work.

 

He’s just like any other guy.

 

And just like any other guy, Mark sins.

 

There are a few _little_ things that do not really matter that much, like throwing a piece of trash on the pavement or accidentally kicking that cat the other day. These are the things that the usual clumsy human being could not avoid, and it was acceptable… in some way.

 

However, there are _other_ things that are… _much_ more noticeable.

 

Mark does not know if these things are acceptable in a way, because even though he’s tried to prove himself that he’s innocent, there’s a certain _nagging_ feeling in him that tells him that he’s not. It’s like god coming down and condemning him for his wrongdoings, driving him insane as a punishment for being a Grade-A dick in the modern world…

 

And now, Mark felt like he is slowly being dragged into hell, with hell hounds and demons latching onto his feet as they fed him into the flames.

 

It was ought to be a normal morning. Mark has just gotten out of his private vehicle right outside his company building when his secretary has immediately bustled to him even before he could get in the doors. His poor secretary had looked… hm, ‘disheveled’ is too vague, how about ‘like she just got ran over by a bulldozer’? Yeah, that sounds more descriptive.

 

When asked what is wrong, all Mark got were rushed statements that ‘ _there is something wrong_ ’ and that ‘ _someone was going to meet him_ ’. Mark had raised an eyebrow; he had no scheduled private meetings for the day. By the look his secretary gave him, he knew it was… important.

 

So, rushing through the lobby of his Fabric Company, he rushes to his office. Up and out the elevator and to the double doors that led to his office. However, Mark was rather shocked when he saw the armada of bodyguards lined outside his doors, all stoic, standing there like a bunch of marble statues, well… marble statues that could _kill_.

 

“What is _this_?” Mark seethes, glaring at all of them. However, the pointed glance that one guard gives him is well enough to send Mark skittering. Mark does not know what the _hell_ is happening. Who are these funky Men in Black people and why were they standing outside of _his_ office? He is the CEO of this goddamn company; he could have these people arrested for fuck’s sake-

 

No one answers, but they shove the double doors open and step aside to let Mark in.

 

 _Tap, tap._ Mark takes a few baby steps in, hearing his shoes collide with the marble tiling of his office. Everything had looked normal, no unusual objects taped to the walls or any broken things… Don’t ask why he is very vague, just… don’t.

 

However, he is rather appalled to see that someone is sitting on his chair by his desk. Mark was certain that there _is_ a person because he could see a tuft of black hair by the edge of the cushioned seat. The chair was swiveled around so the person sitting on it was facing the large, floor to ceiling high windows that adorned Mark’s office.

 

“Who are you?” Mark spits out. “Who do you think you are? Barging in _my_ company and just sitting around here with no provocation? I’ll have you arrested-“

 

“Ah, ah, now Mr. Johnson…” An accented tongue says; the man’s voice suave and cool. “It’s a little too early in the conversation to already start throwing threats around, don’t you think?”

 

The man swivels around, facing Mark fully and Mark had a full view of a man with angled eyes and dark, raven colored hair that was slicked back, leaving tiny wisps to kiss the man’s forehead. Glasses perched daintily on the man’s nose, blue rimmed yet fashionable. On his dusty pink lips, a knowing smile had lain.

 

Mark had no idea what he was feeling, but it was there and it was in his stomach and it _churned_. Like a gnawing sensation in the back of his mind. Like… having an itch but not knowing where to scratch but you _know_ it’s there.

 

That feeling sucks.

 

This man was like an itch, but… But Mark had a feeling that he’d seen this man before, he just didn’t know where.

 

“I speak on behalf of Lilia Baravnoskaya.” The man says, leaning against the chair, as cool as he can be. Mark stills at the name, fearing the tyrant so much. “She has… Quite a lot to say to you, but to get to the point, she’s _really_ disappointed in you, Mr. Johnson.”

 

Mark jumps when the man slides a folder to him, the file sliding smoothly against the glass of his table. His hands shake when he picks it up, feeling the knowing dread start to creep up his stomach.

 

He could hear the man tsk; could see him shake his head in his peripheral vision. Mark was too busy being horrified to read the contents of the folder. “She really is, you know?” The man says, voice smooth and knowing.

 

“Euro. Homage has been partners with your company for _decades_ , Mr. Johnson. We get most of our fabrics and accessories from _you_. And… to find out you’ve been scamming us all along?” The man sighs, voice not sympathetic at _all._ “It’s such a shame, really.”

 

“T-This is not real.” Mark says, voice cracking as the papers in his hands start to shake. _Receipts, warrants,_ all of these tiny little pieces of proof that his sins _were_ real. “This… This isn’t true-“

 

“Oh, really?” The man quirks an eyebrow, his lips tilting a little by the corners. “If it is, then please tell that to the twenty or so _other_ companies you have fooled.”

 

Mark exhales shakily through his mouth, feeling the demon claws and fangs start to latch onto his legs as he shakily plops unto a nearby chair, eyes never leaving the papers that lead to the company’s possible bankruptcy. Mark could feel the hopelessness of the situation start to dawn on him.

 

The man sighs in mock forlorn, crossing his legs and leaning back against the leather office chair, brown eyes never leaving the man before him.

 

“Tragic, isn’t it?” The man coos out, voice dripping with mock empathy. “Such a waste. Anyways, we are pulling away from our business arrangement, so are 80% of your sister companies. I wonder what’ll happen once the _rest_ of the industry finds out that you’ve been supplying faux and cheap fabrics to designers… Who’ll want to pair up with you now?”

 

Mark lets out the most pathetic of whimpers, hands crinkling the papers in the folder as he felt his heart sink to his feet.

 

“Maybe you should’ve stuck to playing dodge ball for the rest of your life, _Mark_.” The man hisses out his name like it was venom. “Surely then you wouldn’t have gotten into this mess.”

 

_Snap._

And just like that, Mark felt like he just got run over by a truck. That sentence, that _statement_ , has sent him back in time, whirling him through his memories, launching him in black and white photographs. Mark suddenly feels the floor sway under his feet, _spin spin spin_ , like he’d just been thrown into those cotton candy machines.

 

Dodge ball? Since when did he play dodge ball? He doesn’t play dodge ball, at least _now_. He’s too busy to play dodge ball. He remembers playing dodge ball as a kid, then as a teen, and when he was… in _college-_

 

Stop, time, and he looks up to finally analyze the man for the first time.

 

He feels his mouth run dry, watching the man across from him smile sweetly in his direction. Mark knew the smile was far from friendly. He remembers that smile, back then, used to be sweeter and much shyer. Now it was malicious and knowing, like a crocodile waiting for its prey to swim in its jaws.

 

The itch was there, and now he knew where it came from. The slicked back hair used to be messy and unruly, never standing flat. Those narrowed eyes used to be wide and hopeful, brown and warm and kind.

 

This man used to be someone Mark looked down upon, now he’s obviously so much more.

 

“You’re…” He manages to choke out, eyes wide as he feels the ball of regret rise up his throat. “K… Katsu-“

 

“Well, it was nice chatting with you Mr. Johnson.” Yuuri Katsuki, now grown and hardened into the industry, stands up and smiles.  “You can keep the documents; trust me when I say we have _numerous_ copies of that file.”

 

Katsuki saunters to the double doors, wearing what seemed like his whole paycheck in the form of clothing, chique and designer. The man spares one last look at Mark before nodding at the guards.

 

“I bid you goodbye, and _suck it up,_ won’t you?”

 

With a final smile, Katsuki the thunderstorm walks out of the room, wrecking everything around him like a hurricane.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

_Mark is just like any other man._

_Mark likes to sing and dance. Mark likes fashion and the science of fabrics, wanting to know how much a roll of fabric could take. Mark laughs and eats and likes to play dodge ball with his friends._

_He is just like any other man._

_And just like any other man, Mark can be a douchebag._

_But so are his friends, so are most of the people in this goddamn university, so are most of the people in this god forsaken world._

_He can be a dick, so what?_

_What’s gonna happen if he sneaks out past curfew sometimes, huh? What would happen if he sometimes cheats on a test? What could happen if he hits Katsuki with his dodge ball every time the pig walks by the quad?_

_Nothing. Nothing happens._

_His friends let out a guffaw when the Japanese boy was sent sprawling to the ground by the bright orange ball that Mark and his friends were just playing with awhile ago. In all honesty, he didn’t really_ mean _to hit Katsuki… The pig was too much of a large target, that’s all._

_“Oh, **suck it up** little piggy!” He calls out when he sees the other boy start to fight off tears as Katsuki tried to pick up his things from the ground._

_See, nothing really happens when Mark is a dick. Sure, he’s not_ always _a dick because there’s no such thing as a human who’s being a dick 24/7 because one could simply not handle the level of dickness. But Mark is a dick, and so are his roommates and his college mates and his professors too._

_Save except for Katsuki._

_That boy does_ nothing _, nothing to defend himself from the dickness of this world, form the sheer absurdity of this world’s society. Nobody says it, but Mark knew that everyone was glad that Katsuki wasn’t a dick._

_But unfortunately, when thou is not a dick, thou shalt be dicked._

_It’s like a common rule in today’s age._

_So everyone had thought that Katsuki would not do anything, but he will. Oh, boy… He **will.** They may think that their acts of pettiness couldn’t be topped, but unfortunately for them, Yuuri will be doing **so much more.**_

 

* * *

 

 

Yuuri had wondered if he has done the right thing.

 

When he was in Mark’s office, every word he has said has sent a shot of adrenaline up his spine. It was like a drug, really, and Yuuri is not sure if he liked it or not. It was like doing drugs, your mind is screaming at you to stop whilst you inject a shot of morphine up your bloodstream. Doing but being unsure.

 

As he walked down the corridors of the corrupt fabric company owned by a corrupt man, people had stared and whispered at every step he took. He had declined the body guards at first, feeling a little too showy. But Lilia had objected, saying that the security in the building were too… risqué. And normally the whispers used to set him off, sent him scurrying further into the shadows. Y.K, in physical form, was never in the spotlight, but his designs were, his name was.

 

But now people had stared, whispered in awe, and Yuuri knew it was partially _their_ fault on these people’s future unemployment.

****

Yuuri scowls at the memory. He could not blame himself for that. Mark and his henchmen have been scamming and scourging designer companies, sending faux and cheap fabrics for the same price. Yuuri had noticed when he finds that the clothes they were now deploying had lower fabric quality and that smells tended to cling harder.

 

Now they were cutting ties with the company and so are other institutions. Lilia was supposed to personally talk to Mark but she had to take care of the damage left by the whole scandal. However, judging by the text Yuuri has just gotten, a car was waiting for the lot of them outside.

 

Unfortunately, Yuuri couldn’t help but feel a little guilty. He remembers the heartbroken look on Mark’s face just awhile ago, sees the way the man’s hands have shook. Yuuri knew he’d been way too petty and unsympathetic, but-

 

 _He deserves it._ The little snake says, slithering his way up Yuuri’s shoulder and next to his ear. _They all deserve it. Don’t hold back now._

 

So Yuuri shakes his head, shakes the doubts and snakes away, and walks out of the building. He smoothly slides in the limousine, and-

 

“GAH!” Yuuri shrieks when he sees Lilia sitting next to him, feeling half of his soul leave his body. Lilia does not stir; she continues to scroll through her phone like the Japanese man next to him did not just shriek into the void.

 

Yuuri takes a few deep breaths, trying to calm his heart. It was like Lilia had just appeared out of nowhere, and that would be pretty fucking terrifying. “Ms. Baravnoskaya… What are you doing-“

 

“I had to arrange a few things from a nearby building. We have an important meeting with _Stammi Vicino_ in thirty minutes; it would be easier if we get there together.” Lilia says, swift and snappy and to the point.

 

Yuuri nods shakily before feeling the words settle unto him fully. “ _Meeting?_ What do _I_ have to do about it?”

 

“Oh, trust me Yuuri; you have _a lot_ to do about it.”

 

The whole ride was pretty normal and mundane, if not, Lilia’s presence next to him _did_ add a little bit of tenseness right there, but Yuuri did not mind. He was staring out the window and lamenting about his next collection, wondering if he should continue that dress-

 

And then it hits Yuuri like a storm.

 

_Stammi Vicino._

Lilia has said they’re meeting with _Stammi Vicino_ , one of the top fashion suppliers and model agency in the whole world. Every beautiful Emma Watson and every hot Zac Efron you see on T.V and runways came from _that_ agency. That place is easily the next richest company, following the big guns like Apple of Microsoft or whatever.

 

They were having a meeting with a rival company.

 

And Lilia said it was _important._

It was like a hidden rule between the two of them. When Lilia has a meeting, she says whether it is ‘important’ or not. This means an important person in the company will be attending, like the CEO or the predecessor.

 

So if the CEO of Stammi Vicino, Yakov Feltsman, will attend, _surely_ his sucessor will.

 

And fucking guess _who’s_ his sucessor?

 

Viktor fucking Nikiforov, that’s who.

 

 

* * *

 

 

They’re late.

 

Who could be put to blame? Certainly not them. Blame downtown traffic and shitty drivers, that’s who. And _no,_ Yuuri _wasn’t_ wishing for the traffic to never end. He… He just so happened to like the city view, that’s all. Anyways, it wasn’t _like_ Yuuri was stressing during the whole ride, like, _no._ He’s professional and calm and ready for anything-

 

“We’re here.”

 

Shit.

 

Lilia basically flies out of the Limo, leaving Yuuri to awkwardly stumble after her like a confused deer. Yuuri was amazed on how well Lilia was fast walking in her four inch steel shoes whilst Yuuri had tripped on _nothing_ at all. On their delusionary marathon towards the conference room, Yuuri could feel his heart start to pound in his ears. _Why?_ Why was his heart palpitating? Was it because of all the fast walking they did? Or maybe it was because the guy upstairs finally took pity of him and is now slowly shoving him into the underworld-

 

“I’m sorry we are late.” Lilia says as she strides into the conference room, composure still intact in comparison to Yuuri. She sits down in one of the chairs. “There was traffic.”

 

Yuuri shuffles into the room, gingerly sitting next to Lilia. He finally takes some time to assess the whole room, and is a little relieved to see that there are only three other people with them. However, lo and behold, Viktor gives Yuuri a dazzling smile when they lock eyes.

 

Yuuri, the dumb idiot he is, looks away.

 

“It is alright.” Yakov Feltsman, seventy and polished with his bald head glinting in the lights, gruffly says with a rough accent on his tongue. “Now, shall we start?”

 

The meeting was full of PowerPoint presentations and fancy talk. Yuuri had tried his best to listen closely and cooperate, and all he got were news that Stammi Vicino and European Homage were now pairing up, despite the rivalry between the two companies. Apparently Mark’s company was the main supplier for the designers that worked under European Homage, so now that they’ve cut ties, Stammi Vicino is now working with the designers to provide models and fabrics.

 

“To commemorate our company’s union, we can make this October issue with your models. I also propose to join the Milan Men’s Fashion Week. My designers will uphold their collections and we will collaborate.” Lilia says, and Yuuri perks up at the statement.

 

Yakov purses his lips, leaning back against his chair. “That sounds fair, I agree.” Yakov says, he turns to the silver haired man next to him. “Are you free when that happens?”

 

Viktor blinks a little, thinking. “Yes, I am.”

 

“Good. Count Viktor in as one of your models.”

 

Yuuri chokes.

 

(silently, however)

 

“Very well.” Lilia turns to Yuuri. “I put him in your care, then.”

 

 _This_ time, Yuuri chokes rather loudly.

 

“W-What-“ Yuuri sputters, eyes flitting everywhere. “Why do I-“

 

“Oh, I have forgotten to introduce you, haven’t I?” Lilia says. “This is Yuuri Katsuki. He works under me, and I consider him as one of my Golden Designers.”

 

Yuuri nearly falls over his chair.

 

“Designer, huh?” Yakov says, eyeing Yuuri warily. “What’s your brand name? Not to offend but I don’t think I’ve ever heard of you-“

 

“Gentlemen…” Lilia says, stoic.

 

“You are looking at Y.K, multimillion brand owner and designer.” Yuuri feels his hands shake as he observes their reactions. Yakov’s eyebrows have risen, looking rather… surprised. The redhead secretary with them just looked up from her clipboard, not really caring.

 

Then there was Viktor, who looked _more_ than shocked.

 

Yuuri got a face full of wide blue eyes and small parting of lips. Viktor looked like his eyes shone, or maybe it was because of the glass chandelier overhead? Who knows. But no one could deny the written shock on the Russian man’s face.

 

Yuuri just shrugs, his lip pursing a little.

 

Lilia faces Yuuri, a challenging smile on his face.

 

“Tomorrow I want you to start working. Bring Nikiforov with you. I want the studio to be _filled_ with activity tomorrow, are we clear?”

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

“Dude…” Phichit lets out a snort. “I don’t know if you’re the master of _bad_ or _good_ luck, because holy shit-“

 

Yuuri just groans into his bed. He sounded like an animal from the Jurassic Period; he wonders why Phichit and his hamsters haven’t run off yet. He feels the bed dip beside him and the sound of Phichit scrounging a bag of chips reaches his ears.

 

“Why are you so terrified, anyways?” Phichit says, voice a little muffled by chips. “I mean, you’re working with _Nikiforov._ You know? The guy that has every man and woman’s underwear in his grasp? _That_ Nikiforov?”

 

“That’s the problem.” Yuuri mumbles into his pillow. “If I do so much as touch him I’ll probably melt.”

 

“Geez, is he _that_ hot?” Phichit scoffs. “Besides, you have other things to worry about. Like how Lilia had just blurted out your superhero alias to a bunch of people? No offense to her, but that’s a dick move.”

 

“Everyone in the industry does a dick move once in a while.” Yuuri rolls over on his bed, watching the dust mites on his ceiling dance. “I was a little annoyed that she did that, but she said that Yakov and his men were trustable, so… It’s not like I have much of a choice.”

 

Phichit shrugs. “Yeah, whatever. Anyways, you got an idea with your collection yet?”

 

Fuck, he doesn’t.

 

Yuuri bolts out of his bed and goes straight for his desk, sliding papers and pencils on the surface. Phichit cackles from the room.

 

“That’s what you get when you lament on hot guys!”

 

“I do  _not_ lament on hot guys!” Yuuri grits, already starting to scribble.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Yuuri stays up late that night. When he _does_ fall asleep, he dreams about poodles and blue eyed men.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am SO sorry for my late update! I have tried to stay to schedule but unfortunately I had sudden important family matters to attend to this weekend! I'm also sorry for this chapter. I felt like this chapter was boring and too filler-y, but do not worry! The next one will surely be quite 'interesting' ;)
> 
> Thank you all so much for the lovely responses and comments! You all make my cold, dead heart flutter with happiness :D
> 
> *blows kiss*


	4. and twilight trimmed in purple haze

Yuuri goes to work looking like a rat’s nest the next day.

 

The moment Yuuri stumbled in the designer’s studio (the building had one for the designers that worked under Lilia so they could all collaborate instead of working alone) with a cup of coffee and death in his eyes, you could say that they were pretty amused. Yuuri was usually neat and poised and wore simple albeit classy clothes. Today, however, Yuuri looked like a tumbleweed has somehow entangled itself unto his hair and every single ounce of tiredness was poured into his eye bags. Fortunately, being a designer by heart, Yuuri never failed to dress nice, being simple yet classy as always. Unfortunately his pretty cashmere sweater and skinny jeans wouldn’t do much to distract people from noticing his tired face.

 

Yuuri was about to do one of those cartoon things wherein you tape your eyelids to your eyebrows so they’d stay open, he stopped himself, however, because of modesty and the office was out of tape. His fellow designers looked like they contemplated whether to laugh or take pity on Yuuri’s soul. As soon as Yuuri dumped mounds of papers filled with designs on his desk, Leo and Guang Hong have immediately asked him if he was alright. Yuuri gave them a smile that screamed ‘i’m dying inside please help me’ and Yuuri knew it was evident.

 

“I’m fine!” Yuuri says, sipping his coffee. Phichit recommended mixing red bull with the drink. Yuuri declined. He tried it once and he almost died of a heart attack. “I just pulled an all nighter, that’s all.”

 

Leo and Guang Hong both nod, almost synchronized. Yuuri mentally dubbed them as the Siamese Cats once. “I heard Lilia put you on a new assignment? Apparently she’s sending someone in today for you?”

 

Oh _shit._

Right, Viktor.

 

Yuuri stumbles into the little bathroom by the corner of the studio and splashes his face with some water, once again failing to do those incredibly impossible ‘splash your face a la slow motion’ things the models do on T.V. Yuuri had surveyed his clothes once more, feeling a little self conscious.

 

 _Fuck_. He stared at himself from the mirror, eyes wide and adorned with eye bags. His hair, being the bitch it was, refused to stay flat and was now ascending to the sky whilst some strands looked like they’ve sunk low enough to reach hell. He’d wondered why he just felt self conscious _now_ , of all the given times. He couldn’t blame himself. Viktor was beautiful even if you shoved him in rags, and those rags probably cost 1000$.  

 

_Ah, Viktor._

His mind flashes with unwarranted memories. A smile, a laugh, a few tears here and there. Most of the memories he had in college were mostly filled with seething hatred, burning with an intensity that was enough to dry the ocean. But even in the midst of that, sometimes even the sun decides to set sometimes.

 

Yuuri had never liked to lament back on his college days. Albeit he never, _ever,_ forgot what he had felt and gone through, remembering the exact events during sleepless nights made him cringe until he had a permanent grimace the next day. On the few times that he _allowed_ himself to do so, however, he had always felt some sort of a burning, crackling intensity within the pits of his being.

 

Yuuri had tried to remember every single name, every single taunt, every single finger pointed at him and every single time his heart had silently broke. His crackling hatred for the motherfuckers that had made his life hell weren’t that much hidden either. All he needed to do was a little soul searching, and it was there, burning and fizzing with so much power.

 

For some reason, the crackling hatred for Viktor wasn’t there.

 

Yuuri gritted his teeth, trying hard to push the memories away. He did not want to remember them, _never_ wanted to remember them. He felt his stomach twist, flipping and tumbling with regret and shame.

 

But he didn’t hate Viktor… Well, at _least_ he didn’t feel like ripping Viktor’s throat out, for the least. But Yuuri could not help but shake silently whenever the thought of Viktor enters his mind, and not in a good way either. But he didn’t have plans to sabotage, to hurt, to make him feel the regret in place for the pain Yuuri had felt all those years ago, unlike the others. You could say that Yuuri was… well, a little conflicted.

 

He didn’t want to hurt Viktor.

 

But he didn’t know what he wanted to do with Viktor either.

 

He feels the little tape measure twist up again, around his arm and circling his throat and landing right next to his ear. _Hiss hiss, bitch._

_“But you **do** want him to regret.” _It’s voice, soft and harsh at the same time. Was Yuuri going insane? Probably. _“You want him to regret. You want him to see how far you’ve come. You want him to realize that you’ve ascended farther than what they would ever expect from you.”_

Yuuri felt his stomach clench, feeling something climb its way up against his spine again. The burning was back, the crackling and electricity and the unending _want_ to shove his success down their throats.

 

_“You want to prove yourself to him.”_

He nearly catapults out of his own skin when somebody knocks on the door. Yuuri was about to holler out a mundane ‘just a minute’ when one of his fellow designers beat him to it.

 

“Yuuri?” Was that Amanda? Who knows? “We’re clearing out in a couple of minutes, so can you lock down when you’re done?”

 

 _What_ the fuck?

 

Yuuri shoves the door open to greet the blonde woman with a confused look on his face. No, _not_ Amanda. Jessie. “ _Clearing out?_ Why are we leaving-“

 

Jessie lets out a nervous chuckle. “No, no. Not _we_.” Yuuri registers the fact that the others in the background are all packing up, putting their designs back in binders and clearing out their work tables free from rolls of fabrics. “Didn’t you know? Lilia is having some of us collaborate with Calvin Klein for L.A FW so we’re going to his studio, and the others have stayed here all night working for Milan. Seems like the only one staying here is you? You _do_ have a project coming up, right?”

 

It takes… _some_ time for Yuuri to process this all.

 

“S-So…” Yuuri stutters out. “I-I’ll have… _the whole studio,_ to myself?”

 

“I think so, yeah? I heard Lilia sent someone in to work with you?” Jessie says, not knowing that Yuuri’s possible impending doom was about to occur.

 

“Isn’t that fun? You’ll have the _whole **day**_ with absolutely _no disturbances_ whatsoever with your mystery friend!”

 

 _Fuck,_ kill him _now._

“Yuuri?” The woman looks at Yuuri like a concerned mother who just found out that her son was sexually attracted to horses. In all honesty, Yuuri couldn’t blame her. “Are you alright? Do you need water-“

 

“Hello? Good morning!”

 

 _Fuck,_ just _really_ kill him _now, please god-_

The Russian’s voice was like a magnet and everyone had immediately whipped their heads towards the smiling silver haired man, who’d just recently entered the studio, like a bunch of seagulls. Yuuri could not blame them. Viktor had smiled politely at every shocked face he saw and never really minding the sheer number of dropped jaws on the floor. When Viktor sees Yuuri the Russian’s smile widens and starts to walk up to him and Yuuri just wants to _die-_

Fuck, Yuuri forgot that Viktor was going early. Yuuri should’ve guessed that the Russian must’ve been sensible and is probably responsible in life, unlike him, who ran on multiple cups of coffee daily.

 

Yuuri lets out what probably looked like a nervous smile, trying hard to not notice Jessie’s shocked expression right in front of him. He takes a few steps to meet Viktor halfway, with the Russian’s smile brightening up the whole room. Yuuri doesn’t know whether he’s ascending into heaven or descending into hell.

 

“So.” Viktor says, clasping his hands together. “Hi?”

 

Um, hello god? Yeah, Yuuri needs help with something it’s uh… what’s it called again? Oh right, eye contact. “Hi.” Yuuri says, looking down at his surprisingly now interesting shoes.

 

Yuuri clears his throat and gestures for Viktor to follow him. They both head over to his desk; Viktor asks if he could place his messenger bag down, Yuuri of course, says yes. The whole thing was so tense and casual at the same time Yuuri could hear his fellow designers silently scream in the background.

 

The Japanese man finally looks up and meets Viktor’s eye, all the while trying hard to ignore his coworkers in the background giving winks and doing rather explicit hand gestures. The last of them leaves but not before giving Yuuri a thumbs up. The door closes shut; he and the hottest bachelor alive are alone in the same room.

 

“S-So, uh, I’ll have to take your measurements first, yeah?” Yuuri says, because _duh,_ how’ll he get the ~~perfect measurements of Viktor’s ass~~  needed measurements so he could make clothes that are visually fitting to Viktor’s structure?

 

_Duh._

Viktor nods, smiling. Yuuri smiles back, hoping that he didn’t look dead inside. “Hold on, I’ll just go find the tape measure.” Yuuri takes a swig from his coffee first before he walks past the blue eyed man, cursing Arnold or whoever else took his fucking tape measure. Finally, after digging through some drawers, he pulls out the slightly worn tape measure and turns back around and _what the fuck-_

“Uh… Viktor.” Yuuri manages to wheeze out. He sounded like those little broken squeaker toys, filled with dust and failure. “Why… Why do you have your shirt off?”

 

Viktor looks back at him, _completely_ innocent, like he wasn’t blinding anyone near the fifty meter radius with his ~~rock hard~~ chest. Viktor had just folded and placed his button up on the desk near him, all the while giving Yuuri a ‘is something wrong?’ look.

 

“You said you’d get my measurements, right?” Viktor says, raising an eyebrow. “Well, trust me; it’s much better this way.”

 

Yuuri’s jaw has descended into hell, judging how far it has dropped.

 

Viktor has started unbuckling his pants.

 

Yeah… Yuuri drew the line at that.

 

The brown eyed man shrieked so loudly the nearby window has shook. Yuuri was sure that if he stepped up the pitch of the shriek even just a _little bit_ he would’ve shattered it beyond existence. Viktor had jumped, looking at Yuuri with wide eyes. “Y-You don’t need to do… _that_!” He hopes that Viktor gets the jist of what he means with Yuuri’s wild hand gestures.

 

Viktor raises an eyebrow, like _he_ wasn’t the one who just tried to take off his pants nonchalantly. “Are you sure?” He asks, uncertainty laced in his tone.

 

Yuuri wasn’t sure whether if he wanted to ask if he did this to _all_ the designers he has worked with or if he just wanted to simply drop dead. Viktor didn’t seem like he had any _wrong_ doings imprinted on his agenda, since the Russian had acted like this was just a _normal_ thing for him anyways. But Yuuri wsn’t sure if he would be able to correctly get measurements if his muse was stark naked.

 

~~Not like Yuuri was complaining.~~

“U-Uh, yeah. You don’t have to…” Yuuri makes a few more wild hand gestures, hoping that the Russian would get the idea. Viktor chuckles, nodding.

 

Viktor didn’t bother putting his shirt back on.

 

~~Yuuri didn’t ask anyways.~~

Yuuri’s hands were shaking as he gripped the tape measure, slowly approaching the Russian man who was seemingly oblivious to Yuuri’s current demise. Viktor was like a mirror, the sunlight from the nearby window streamed through the glass and bounced off his pale skin, making him almost look ethereal. He was like a moon, but… less round and much hotter.

 

Yuuri should’ve seen this coming? Viktor is one of the most hottest bachelors alive, Yuuri has seen him half naked in almost every billboard and advertisement you could see. It was like companies tried to get Viktor naked as _much_ as possible, and Yuuri couldn’t blame them. Viktor was fit, _very_ fit, but not overly muscular either.

 

Yuuri just takes a deep breath, wishing that it would be over soon. He takes his place behind Viktor, with the Russian man’s eyes trailing him as he went. Yuuri quickly measures the expanse of Viktor’s broad shoulders before writing them down in a nearby note pad.

 

“So… um.” Viktor says whilst Yuuri was busy writing the notes. “You’re Y.K.”

 

Yuuri had tried not to deliberately freeze at the statement. He had mentally prepped himself the night before for the impending conversation, already making prepared statements and responses to a few expected questions. Some were ‘ _how much money do you make_ ’ or ‘ _would you ever show your face one day’_ both of which are answered with a ‘no’.

 

“Yes, I am.”

 

Viktor was silent for a while. Yuuri had braced himself for the possible questions to be thrown at him, already feeling Viktor’s curiosity radiate off the man as Yuuri positioned himself right in front of him, measuring Viktor’s collar as he tried not to cut himself with Viktor’s collarbones. Yuuri tried to ignore the fact that they are very, _very_ , close, as in the ‘I can feel your breath on the top of my head’ close and Yuuri wasn’t sure if he liked it or not.

 

“Is it okay?”

 

Yuuri jumped a little at Viktor’s sudden voice, and he raised his head up to meet with Viktor’s blue eyes, giving the other man a questioning look.

 

“U-Uh, with us knowing, I mean.” Viktor says, eyes flitting between maintaining eye contact and doing the exact opposite. “Because… I figure, it must’ve been a little hard for your identity to just be blurted out like that?”

 

Well, Yuuri wasn’t expecting _that_.

“It’s okay.” Yuuri says softly, going back to measure Viktor’s ~~bicep~~ sleeve. “As long as you don’t announce to the whole world about my alias then we’re all good.”

 

Viktor smiles. “Good. But what if I _do,_ though?” He adds the last line with a tinge of playfulness,

 

Yuuri rolls his eyes. “Viktor, remember, I’m designing your clothes. I can make you wear a mankini to the runway if I want to.” Yuuri says the following in a completely deadpanned, monotone voice.

 

Yuuri is surprised to hear Viktor’s delighted laugh after that.

 

Viktor’s laugh was wonderful, like a fairy tinkling in those Disney movies. Yuuri is a little thankful that some of the tension has seeped its way out of the situation. Immediately, angels and everything holy have descended from the heavens, showering blessings and everything good in this world that came along with the laugh.

 

Okay, maybe Yuuri was overly describing things.

 

But Yuuri could not resist the small, twisting feeling in his stomach, feeling the rumbling depths of memories and regret climb its way through his system. Yuuri has heard that laugh before, and it’s starting to make him remember things.

 

Yuuri does not want to remember things.

 

_You want to prove yourself to him-_

Yuuri shakes his head, trying to will the hissing voice away.

 

Yuuri had crouched down, trying to measure Viktor’s hip diameter casually. Yuuri was rather afraid of staining Viktor’s designer jeans with his hands because those things probably cost his kidney, so with dainty fingers, he wraps the tape around Viktor’s hips, trying hard to not notice Viktor’s cologne and the punctuating bones and curves that came along with his structure.

 

Not saying that Yuuri is level to Viktor’s crotch, but Yuuri is _definitely_ level to Viktor’s crotch.

“You’re not mad?” Viktor continues, as if Yuuri didn’t look like he was acting a felony if someone were to walk in. “With Lilia?”

 

Yuuri purses his lips. He’d felt some sort of annoyance when Lilia had just chosen to blurt out his identity without even his consent, because it was unfair to him and everything he worked for could’ve been erased and Yuuri didn’t get to have the power to fight back. Lilia knew this, and after the meeting, she had pulled him aside and talked to him about the matter.

 

 _“Understand that Yakov and his men can be trusted._ ” Lilia had whispered. _“If any one of them choose to sabotage you and your name, I’ll have them wrung up before they can even do anything, are we clear?”_

So yes, Yuuri still thought it was unfair, but he knew Lilia had the right mindset when she made the decision.

 

“No, not really.” Yuuri says quietly, now moving to measure Viktor’s leg size, which was _really_ long by the way, ~~and also really toned~~. “I understood why she did so. Besides, it would be kind of hard to have someone design clothes for you without really knowing them, right?” Above him, Yuuri could sense Viktor nod.

 

For the whole duration of it, Yuuri was on edge. He was wondering why Viktor had not asked about the ‘coat’ incident, nor did he ask about the reunion. Maybe the Russian was considerate of Yuuri’s obvious discomfort and maybe chose not to talk about it? Who knows. But Yuuri could not help himself from tensing up whenever the thought of the inevitable questions start to pop up in his mind.

 

“Done.” Yuuri says, scribbling the last few notes in his notepad. He shucks the tape measure away, not wanting to hear a familiar hissing voice again. “So I’m just going to do a few fabric experiments with you, and then you’re done. Is that all right?”

 

The next hour was consisted of Yuuri throwing random articles of clothing unto Viktor’s form, mixing in different shades of fabrics and seeing if they suited Viktor’s skin. Having Viktor shirtless was a little easier, however, but Yuuri couldn’t count the amount of times he has accidentally brushed against the man’s torso.

 

All throughout the process, Viktor was steady and professional and knew what he was doing. He obediently obeyed Yuuri’s command, trying on clothes and twisting and turning for Yuuri’s ‘observation’. They had small talk, balancing between the fine line that held ‘casual’ and ‘a little awkward’. Viktor had pointed out these little comments and suggestions, giving the idea that Viktor knew a little bit about design too. This shouldn’t be a surprise since Viktor had attended Design as well back then.

 

Ugh, college.

 

Yuuri tried not to visibly grimace at the thought.

 

Albeit all of this, Yuuri was aware of the rather… he wasn’t sure what it meant, but the way Viktor had _looked_ at him, watching him curl his fingers and play with fabrics and pin his clothes together. It was like Viktor was observing him warily, and Yuuri didn’t know why.

 

Yuuri had tried not to notice this in the fear of making things awkward, but he can’t help but avert his eyes or feel so heated under the other man’s gaze. Who could blame him? Viktor was standing shirtless in his studio and they were both _alone._

“So, that’s it then?” Yuuri says as Viktor starts to button up, which Yuuri was thankful for because for a second he thought the man was going to walk out of the office shirtless. “If I manage to finish a few designs today, I’ll call you in tomorrow so you can try them on, yes?”

 

Viktor flashes him a smile, rolling up his sleeves as he goes to grab his messenger bag. “Sure. Thanks Yuuri, it was nice working wi-“

 

They both gasp when a cup of coffee topples over, popping the lid open and spilling the brown contents over a nearby cashmere sweater, staining the pastel blue with an ugly brown. When Viktor has tried to get his messenger bag, the bag had accidentally toppled over Yuuri’s nearby coffee.

 

Yuuri shrieked, saving his nearby designs and finding that none of them were actually damaged, just a few of them will smell like coffee now (which wasn’t a bad thing, actually). Yuuri flashed a bewildered look at Viktor, who looked _horrified._

“Oh, god…” Viktor has said when Yuuri picked the stained sweater up, reveling at the large stain. “Yuuri, I’m SO sorry! God- I’ll… I’ll wash it for you, yes?”

 

Yuuri gave Viktor a smile, reveling how adorably worried the Russian is. It wasn’t that much of a problem, he could have this sweater laundered and dried and it was alright. “It’s alright, Viktor. Besides, you’re not allowed to take this home, it’s company property.” Yuuri says, hoping his voice would sound comforting.

 

Viktor didn’t look that much comforted. “Still… I ruined some of your designs!”

 

Yuuri lets out a giggle. “You splattered, like, a drop of coffee on the corners.”

 

“Still!”

 

“No, really, it’s alright.”

 

“No, Yuuri.” Viktor lets out a strained smile. “I cracked your phone the other day and _now_ I sort of ruined your sweater. I _have_ to make it up to you.”

 

“Viktor, you can’t buy me a new phone. I refuse-“

 

“How about I buy you dinner then, huh?”

 

…

 

 

When Yuuri had arrived in France for the first time, he remembers stepping out of the airport and not even two seconds later some burly muscled man had immediately greeted him in French and then kissing him fully on both cheeks before promptly leaving. Yuuri vaguely remembers standing frozen in his spot for a full ten minutes to understand _what the fuck is going on-_

Yuuri blinks for a few times, processing what Viktor has just said. The little minions that control his pathetic excuse for a brain are currently running around, screaming with everything on fire like in that one Spongebob episode.

 

“What?” Yuuri asks, eyes wide.

 

Viktor gives him a hopeful look. “Dinner. If I can’t wash that sweater _or_ replace your phone, then the least I would do is treat you to dinner.”

 

Yuuri is expecting the same burly French guy would burst through the room again, because _holy fuck-_

The Japanese man was rather aware of the pink that probably dusted his cheeks. “N-No, uh, you don’t _have_ to-“

 

“I _insist._ ”

 

“Viktor-“

 

“Please.”

 

“You don’t-“

 

“Yuuri Katsuki, I am _not_ leaving this studio unless you agree with me to treat you to dinner.”

 

Yuuri was rendered silent after that. Because Viktor said this in a rather assertive voice, not _too_ loud to make him squirm away but enough to make it _really_ sexy. Okay, what the fuck? Something was _really_ wrong with him. Maybe it’s because of all the coffee he’s been drinking? _Who knows,_ life has a strange way of fucking you up.

 

“Alright, alright, _fine._ ” Yuuri says, running a hand through his hair in exasperation. Viktor gave out a grin that Yuuri could mistake for being heart shaped, it was sad that Yuuri didn’t have the time to appreciate it properly. “But _two_ conditions, alright?”

 

Viktor stilled at that, giving Yuuri an approving nod.

 

“We meet by the square later on at seven, since I have work to do.” Viktor nods at this, urging Yuuri to go on. “Second, _I_ pick where we’re eating.”

 

Viktor gives an enthusiastic nod. “Sounds good!”

 

Yuuri barely had a warning, but all he got was a flash of movement and before he knew it Viktor Nikiforov was hugging him. All the little minions in his head are now deepfried and stuffed into his heart because _he swears to god_ he’s having heart burn, judging from how hard it was beating. It was just a quick, simple one, and Viktor pulled away quickly.

 

“See you later, then?” Viktor says, looking back at Yuuri as he began to walk away. Yuuri gave out a wheeze, signaling that he was still alive but _just_ barely. Viktor gave Yuuri a smile, before promptly exiting the room with a final ‘goodbye’.

 

Yuuri collapsed into a chair, exhaling. He pressed a hand to his rapidly beating chest, willing it to _calm_ down.

 

Once he was finally breathing properly, he looks at the designs on his table and the puddle of coffee. He sighs, taking a nearby rug and wiping it clean. He should’ve known Viktor would hug him. Viktor would hug _everyone_ , to be honest.

 

He’d always known Viktor was a hugger.

 

He’d always known.

 

                      

* * *

 

 

Yuuri was rather good at dressing himself up.

 

Whether it be formal or casual or even his motherfucking _pyjamas,_ Yuuri had the power and will to be the classiest stag around. Who could blame him? He was a _fashion designer;_ it was part of the job. Unfortunately, the fashion designer in him apparently moved away and is now residing in the beaches of some rural area, because _wow-_

Giving one last hopeless look at his messy closet, he rings up Phichit. The moment Phichit greeted him with the usual ‘what’s up bitch’, the only thing he could say was: “I’m having a mid-life crisis.”

 

“Yuuri, you’re only 23.”

 

“Apparently I’m getting old.”

 

“What happened?”

 

Yuuri plops unto his bed, racking his brain for possible ways to tell Phichit that he’s apparently going to have a night out with Viktor Nikiforov.

 

“Uh, well, my _friend_ needs… uh, help with her outfit.”

 

“So? I’m a _photographer_ , Yuuri. Look who’s asking.”

 

“Shut up! You know fashion too-“

 

“Oh cut the crap, hon.” Yuuri hears a distinctive _slurp_ , Phichit’s probably eating ramen again for fuck’s sake. “Let me guess, you’re on a date with someone and now you’re having trouble because you don’t know what to wear even though you’ve been deemed as a god in the designing industry?”

 

Yuuri swears to _god_ Phichit has cameras up his room. “In _retrospect_ -“

 

“Who is he?”

 

Yuuri bites his lip, worrying at the bottom. He should tell Phichit, right? The Thai is his best friend, after all. Besides, if Phichit would ever make fun of him Yuuri had a whole album of drunk!Phichit during their training days to use as blackmail material, so it’s all good.

 

“Viktor Nikiforov.”

 

Phichit makes a _clack_ sound with his mouth, a habit of the younger man. “Alright, and what’s your situation?” The Thai doesn’t even sound _surprised._

Yuuri sighs, glancing at the hurricane that has ran through his room. Most of his clothes were on the bed, hangers were dangling off the rack, and Yuuri’s life was falling apart because he’d never been this helpless in looking for an outfit before.

 

“A hopeless one.”

 

* * *

 

 

Yuuri was thankful that he’d ask Phichit for advice, because apparently he’d found out through the man that there was going to be a surprise snow fall that night and Yuuri was planning to go out in nothing but a button up and jeans.

 

Up ahead, he could see a lone figure by the café that Viktor and he agreed as a meet up spot. Yuuri huffed, quickening his pace and shoving his hands into his coat as he inhaled the chilly air. Snow was nice, but not when Elsa from Frozen chose to just fuck with them randomly without warning. It was not _cool_ , not at all.

 

Viktor’s silver hair seemed to blend into the landscape, the city lights twinkling into his silver hair alongside with the snow. The Russian sees Yuuri and waves, smiling the same heart shaped smile he always seemed to wear. Luck for him, Viktor apparently knew about the surprise snow fall and is dressed comfortably in a coat and scarf, almost compatible to Yuuri’s outfit.

 

“Hey, you!” Viktor greets, Yuuri gives him a smile as he approaches the Russian.

 

“So, shall we?” Viktor nods at the café in front of them, and Yuuri shakes his head, chuckling.

 

“We’re not eating _there_.” Yuuri says, looking up at the café. It was _very_ pink, filled with cat paraphernalia. Not to be rude, but you’d have to haul Yuuri in just to make him sit and eat here. Viktor looked genuinely surprised.

 

“We’re not eating at _Kitty Extraordinaire?_ ” Viktor says, reading the sign and mock pouting. Yuuri laughs.

 

“Unfortunately, _no._ ” Yuuri says. He starts to walk and he gestures for Viktor to follow him.

 

Yuuri and Viktor walk out unto the busy night streets of New York wherein it doesn’t matter even if it’s midnight, people and cars are still going to be pouring out onto the streets.

 

For almost… how many years? Five? Six? Seven? He does not know. But he’s spent almost a decade here in New York, where he has strived and bloomed and poured out every ounce of blood, sweat and tear into his work. He remembers, back then, when he was young and broke and he worked night shifts in a fast food chain so he could at _least_ shove some food in his mouth.

 

Sometimes, when Yuuri looks back, the difference of what he is now and what he used to be is jarring. Sometimes he wonders how what kind of lucky strike he hit and he landed in the life he has right now. Albeit it was _definitely_ not perfect, it was better than what he has ever had. Back then he was barely scraping around by the skin of his teeth…

 

Now he’s freely walking around Time Square, with supermodel Viktor Nikiforov by his side.

 

“So, where are we eating?” Viktor asks through the hustle and bustle of the night life. “Capital Grille? Benihana? McCormick?” Yuuri hums and purses his lips against the seemingly expensive restaurant chains and wonders how Viktor could just _say_ them so casually, like they didn’t cost an arm and a leg per admission.

 

“Just name it, I’ll pay.” Viktor says as Yuuri’s eyes scan the rows of restaurants, and his eyes light up when he sees a particular one. Quickening his pace, it does not take long for them to be on the restaurant’s storefront.

 

“World Cuisine?” Viktor reads aloud from the nearby menu, and Yuuri was a little worried that the restaurant may be too mundane for Viktor’s tastes. The restaurant wasn’t fancy nor was it expensive, it could be mistaken for fast food except for the fact that it wasn’t.

 

“Yes? Do you want to eat somewhere else?” Yuuri asks, a little self conscious.

 

“No, no! Anywhere is fine… It’s just-“ Viktor gives Yuuri a smirk. “I would not have guessed that renowned fashion designer Y.K would like to eat _here.”_

Yuuri rolls his eyes. “Oh _please,_ I’m not elite.” Viktor chuckles and opens the glass doors for Yuuri, and they are both greeted by booths, shitty air-conditioning, and some sort of samba music in the background.

 

He remembers him and Phichit eat here a few years ago. The place held a special slot in Yuuri’s heart because it’s one of the few restaurants around New York that sell katsudon since it’s a world cuisine, plus, Phichit spilled iced tea over himself once here so it was _definitely_ a night to remember.  

 

They sat themselves down and Yuuri didn’t even need to look at the menu to know what he was ordering. He gained weight easily, so eating his favorite food was like a treasured moment and he did it whenever he could. Viktor had said that he was having whatever Yuuri ordered.

 

“Are you sure?” Yuuri asks. “You might not like it.”

 

Viktor smiles at him. “I trust your judgment.”

 

As they waited for their food, their conversation was mostly filled with small talk. Talks about the upcoming fashion week, Yuuri’s designs, nonchalant things. Yuuri found out that Yakov and Lilia apparently know each other very well, and apparently there is a big chance that Yakov is probably scared of her too. Yuuri could not blame the man, who _wouldn’t_ be scared of Lilia?

 

Soon enough, two steaming bowls of katsudon are placed in front of them. Viktor’s eyes had widened hungrily at the dish, and Yuuri chuckles as he splits his chopsticks apart. Yuuri waits for a moment, watching the Russian across from him take his first bite and…

 

“VKUSNO!” _Ah,_ there it is. Viktor had promptly shoveled more food into his mouth after that, and Yuuri finally willed himself to take a bite. The katsudon here was good, but nothing would ever compare to the ones his mother and father made back in Japan. Yuuri sighs, now a little sad. He could not help but feel a little sad for his parents, for Mari, for everyone back home. He hasn’t visited in _years;_ they probably miss him as much as _he_ misses them.

 

Viktor has paused from his eating spree, now looking at Yuuri with a concerned look on his face. “Are you alright, Yuuri?”

 

Yuuri jerked from his momentary nostalgia moment, and he gives Viktor a smile. “Nothing, I’m fine.”

 

“Are you sure?” Viktor waves a strip of breaded pork in front of Yuuri. “The food’s good.”

 

Yuuri nods, and starts to shovel food in his mouth. Back then, eating this type of food here in New York was a rarity, a thing he had to work for. Now he’s here, free to eat as much as he could, _but_ he remains vigilante about his weight all the while.

 

He couldn’t bear to let what happened years ago happen again.

 

“I still don’t get how you managed to go around with an identity for _three_ years without anyone knowing.” Viktor says, his mouth half full of rice.

 

Yuuri chuckles, knowing why Viktor thought so. Secret aliases in the fashion industry were usually short lived due to the thirsty media and other curious managers. Yuuri then proceeds to tell Viktor that a few important people had known about him due to business reasons, like Viktor and his men themselves. But other than that? No one else was allowed to know.

 

The night had progressed on, with both of them eating in comfortable silence. Sometimes they would talk, but they were too busy admiring the food to actually talk. Viktor was already nearly done with his food, and Yuuri could not blame him. Katsudon was _fucking_ delicious, and it made him happy knowing that Viktor had fun in this quaint little restaurant.

 

Meanwhile, Yuuri was regretting ordering iced tea for his drink.

 

Meanwhile, Yuuri was staring longingly at his glass of iced tea. He’d been trying _really_ hard to not take out a fork and fish out the floating lemons in the drink, because _hell_ , call it a weird habit but Yuuri couldn’t drink iced tea with the lemons inside. God, _help him_ , he does not know where he got it or _why_ but it’s _there_ and Yuuri feels like his throat is on fire and he wants to drink _so badly_ but he _can’t_ because Viktor would probably think he’s some sort of freak with nasty food habits-

Yuuri’s eyes have widened when, from across from him, Viktor takes a clean fork by the side and fishes the lemons for him. Yuuri is at loss for words as Viktor places them on a nearby napkin, with now his iced tea free of the offending lemons.

 

“Uh…” Yuuri says, racking his brain for things to say. “Thank you.”

 

“No problem.” Viktor says, looking at Yuuri knowingly in the eye. “I’ve always known you don’t like lemons in your iced tea.”

 

Yuuri nearly drops his chopsticks after that.

 

 _Instantly_ , memories flitter through his mind, whirling and swirling with an uncertainty that matched Yuuri’s own. They were a mixture of muddled and crystal clear, flying through Yuuri’s mind without consent and Yuuri gritted his teeth, _remembering_ and _remembering_ and _remembering and remembering and remembering-_

_CRASH! CRACKLE!_

_Fuck,_ it’s there again.

 

“Yuuri?” Viktor says, looking at Yuuri with hope in his eyes. “Yuuri, I-“

 

“Viktor, no.” Yuuri says, staring down at his food, one of his chopsticks brutally stabbed at a piece of pork.

 

“Yuuri, can we talk ab-“

 

“ _Please,_ Viktor.” Yuuri says, a little hopeless now as he looks up at Viktor. “I don’t want to. Please.”

 

Yuuri didn’t care about the fact that Viktor didn’t finish his sentence; Yuuri knew _exactly_ what Viktor was going to say. And _god_ , he didn’t want to talk about it. Talking about it means remembering, Yuuri does not want to remember. He wants to forget, just let the old memories stream through the thunderstorms and get lost for all eternity.

 

Viktor looks heartbroken for a second, his eyes drooping noticeably. Viktor puts his attention back to his food, tinkering the bowl with his chopsticks. “Alright. I’m sorry.”

 

Yuuri almost let out a sigh of relief, thankful that Viktor was as understanding as ever and didn’t try to push the subject any further. They spent the rest of their evening quietly finishing their meal, now with a tone of uncertainty and tenseness in the air. In the end, they both got up and Viktor payed for the surprisingly cheap, albeit delicious, meal.

 

They agreed to separate way again, at the same ridiculous café. The whole walk back was filled with the sound of snow crunching and mindless small comments about some random subject. Yuuri hated himself, how he ruined the mood awhile ago. It was fun and light hearted, no tenseness or whatsoever. _God,_ he had a knack for fucking things up, didn’t he?

 

He was thankful for Viktor, to be honest. The Russian man didn’t seem to be affected by the earlier events; still, carefree as ever, if not, a certain cautiousness was laced within his demeanor. Yuuri knew Viktor was just respecting his boundaries, and Yuuri couldn’t be more thankful for it.

 

They find themselves back at the cat café, both of them freezing their ears off and a little full. Viktor gives Yuuri a smile, albeit a little strained.

 

“I’ll see you around?” Viktor says softly, eyes laced with a sense of adoration. For what? Yuuri didn’t know.

 

Yuuri gives out a small smile back. “I’ll see you around.”

 

Viktor sighs, looking a little relieved.

 

“Goodnight, Yuuri.”

 

Viktor had gasped when, like a blur, a certain Japanese man had hugged him. It was quick, swift, and Yuuri had meant for it to be a casual hug but he knew it meant _so much more,_ and Viktor knew it too. Hugging Viktor was alien and familiar at the same time.

 

Viktor barely had the time to hug back before Yuuri pulled away, his chest aching like a part of it has lost. Whose chest, you may ask? Well, to be honest, both of them.

 

Yuuri clears his throat, trying to will the blush on his cheeks away. To an outsider’s perspective, they were just two guys hanging outside a ridiculously pink café, with snow falling in their hair and everything probably seemed normal, but Yuuri knew everything meant so much more, and Yuuri _wanted_ to be more…

 

But he knew it can’t. Couldn’t be.

 

Looking up at Viktor’s eyes, blue blue _blue_ , he tries to imagine that the snake by his ear wasn’t real.

 

“Goodnight.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Later, Yuuri is lying on his bed and trying to question his sanity. He knew he wouldn’t be able to sleep again and will probably do the ‘mix your coffee with red bull’ thing tomorrow morning. He watches the dust mites waltz across his ceiling, twirling like a pair of lovers.

 

_Whoosh, whoosh._

Viktor had said ‘goodnight’, instead of ‘goodbye’.

 

He couldn’t help but smile a little, pressing his face against his pillow. He sees the moon outside, shining through his glass windows and peeking in his room. His bed seems as lonely as ever, even with the abundance of pillows that he had.

 

He allows himself to remember for once, _just_ this once. He limits himself from remembering, all the while, trying not to trigger himself once again. He remembers a shitty diner, iced tea, and snow.

 

_“Goodnight is **much** better than goodbye, don’t you think?”_

Shaking his head, he tries to get his old annoying sixteen year old voice out of his head, and he finally drifts off to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO BOY, 
> 
> Alright, so... update?
> 
> *flips through writing notebook* *sees **MAKE YUURI MEASURE VIKTOR SHIRTLESS IN 4TH CHAPTER** underlined*
> 
> well.
> 
> Does anyone else have that weird habit? I have the iced tea habit, and I don't know WHY I can't drink iced tea with the lemons inside. I just don't know WHY. Do any of you have weird habits? Please lemme know, because I feel really absurd and weird and maybe seeing that I'm not alone would make me feel better :)
> 
> I would like to thank errybody who have been giving out kudos and comments for this fic! Ya'll warm my cold dead heart, and lemme tell you, it's been dead since the Jurassic Period (cuz dinosaurs are life and when i found out as a kid that they are extinct I literally cried) so it's a HUGE understatement! THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU! *rains dinosaur shaped cookies towards my readers* may god bless ya'll *cries for days*
> 
> NOTE: As you can see, I have changed my pseud and my tumblr url too. Find my tumblr here at this [SHITHOLE](http://jmoncheri.tumblr.com)
> 
> *continues to rain cookies* love ya'll <3
> 
> EDIT: IF ANY OF U SPOT THE ICE PUN I MADE, I WILL REWARD U WITH NO FUCKS TO GIVE
> 
> EDIT EDIT: I JUST SAW YURIO'S EXHIBITION SKATE PREVIEW AND IT IS BEAUuTiFUllL


	5. don't act like you forgot (i call the shots)

“Yo? Are you alright?”

 

Sometimes, in the midst of thunder, you can see a rainbow…

 

… which is pretty damn absurd once you think of it. Picture a duck in the midst of a horde of pigs, the pigs don’t give a _fuck_ about the duck, but they’re not _noticing_ it either? Do you get the analogy? To make everything else less absurd, just imagine the little rainbow there, a little ray of sunshine in the midst of a swirling vortex of terror and every synonym of ‘stress’ you could find.

 

“Yes.” Yuuri breathes out, rubbing the bridge of his nose. If Yuuri’s nose could talk, it would probably shriek at Yuuri to _finally_ get a fidget cube because Yuuri _couldn’t stop rubbing it_ (It’s a stress habit, alright?). From the other end of the line, Mari, the actual human reincarnation of a Yuuri Katsuki lie detector, chuckles.

 

“I know you’re not. Are you directing a new show again? I’m sorry; I don’t know fashion that much, even when my brother’s a famous designer.”

 

Yuuri, like the poor, loving, and guilty brother that he is, lashes out at his sister’s attempts to deprecate herself. “No, no! It’s alright. _Yes_ , I am going to coordinate another show… Uh,” He glances at the stack of paperwork and binders on his desk, immediately feeling the need to chug down a bucketful of Xanax. “It’s just a little stressful, that’s all. Lilia’s making me work more…”

 

Mari tsks at the other end of the line. “Is she? If she dares to overwork my brother to the point of exhaustion-“

 

Yuuri laughs. Do not be fooled by his sister’s squishyness and her tendency to be a nice human being, she protected the hot springs from a trio of thieves with nothing but an umbrella once. “It’s alright, _neesan_. It’s… going to benefit me eventually, don’t worry.”

 

“Ah, good.” Mari says. “Is the show going to be broadcasted on the television? It would be nice to see your works again, if only I could see them in person…”

 

Yuuri smiles, albeit a little sad. “I wish, but it’s going to be a low budget production. It’s in Pennsylvania, we’re gonna use the show to get more models recruited. Besides, my designs won’t appear in it…”

 

 _Your designs are going to appear in something bigger…_ The little snake says. Yuuri contemplates calling Animal Control. _Don’t you want that? Men’s Milan Fashion Week? If only you’d get good enough-_

Yuuri wishes he had a pair of scissors on him so he could cut the imaginary tape measure in half. Before he could do so, his sister pulls him away from his loss of sanity. “That’s too bad. Well, don’t overwork yourself, alright?”

 

“Mhm.”

 

“Also, go to sleep early.”

 

“Mhm.”

 

“And drink the ginseng tea recipe _okaasan_ sent you.”

 

“Mhm.”

 

“And also, you need to stop sending us so much money!” Mari sighs, and Yuuri couldn’t help but laugh. “I mean it, Yuuri! The hot springs are renovated enough; it’s already starts to look like a hotel! Plus, the bank savings are starting to overflow; we’d have enough money to sustain the grandkids of our grandkids of our grandkids-”

 

“Don’t you want that?” Yuuri asks, smiling. “You’ve always wanted children-“

 

“Yes, but your dear sister is going _nowhere_ with her current lover, and you’d probably have a _dog_ as your child or something!” Yuuri cackles, knowing the full truthfulness of his sister’s words. Mari sighs.

 

“Why don’t you spend it on yourself for once, huh? Buy a car, start a business, go on a vacation somewhere…”

 

“Alright, where do you all want to go?” Yuuri asks, a little anticipating.

 

“You’ve treated us to vacations enough, it’s time you enjoy yourself. Bring your lover with you…”

 

Yuuri flushes a little. “I’m still single.”

 

“Of course you are.”

 

“I can’t believe it.” Yuuri says in mock hurt. “My own sister, calling me out for having no romantic affiliations or whatsoever.”

 

“You’re a dork.”

 

“ _Exactly_ the reason why I’m still single.”

 

“There are _millions_ out there who like dorky men who make stupid decisions.”

 

“And look where that got me.”

 

Mari huffs, but being siblings who were apparently conjoined ever since they popped out of their mother’s vagina, Yuuri _knows_ Mari is smiling that little bemused smile on the other end of the line, probably contorted by a cigarette in her mouth.

 

“We miss you.”

 

Yuuri sighs, feeling a sense of homesickness get jabbed into his heart. Maybe the snake bit him again. “I miss you all too.” Yuuri leans back against his office chair, smiling sadly. “I’ve been trying to visit, you know.”

 

“For the past seven years, yes.” Mari sighs, and Yuuri could not help the bout of guilt that jolts him.

 

Yuuri was like a migrating bird, flying to over hundreds of countries for fashion shows and design collaborations and everything clothing related, but _never_ back to his homeland. It makes the guilt in his heart snowball into homesickness. What would his mother and father look like now? Would they have deeper lines on their faces, marred with life and work? What does Mari’s boyfriend look like? Does she have piercings now? Is the skating rink near their home still up? How are Yuuko and Nishigori and their kids?

 

All of these, Yuuri only knew through calls and the occasional Skype sessions, but never in flesh.

 

 _Just imagine your parents…_ The snake now hisses, twining its way around his neck and head, hissing in his ear once more. Yuuri has never hated those numbers on the measuring tape so much. _So lonely and sad, waiting for the child that doesn’t do anything but send money as a consolation for his absence…_

 

He didn’t mean it. He didn’t… He didn’t mean to-

 

_CRASH! CRACKLE-_

 

“I know, I know.” Yuuri says, shaking his head, trying to fling the abomination of nature away. “I’m… I’m really _busy_ -“

 

“Don’t worry about it kid, we understand.” Mari says with the same old ‘I’m your big sister so you should listen and believe whatever I say’ voice, which she rarely uses. “Just… Try to get a boyfriend, alright?”

 

Before Yuuri is done sputtering, the call ends.

 

Yuuri smiles fondly, hoping that his family was alright even with thousands of kilometers away, and slides his phone across the table, rubbing his nose yet again. He stares at the paperwork on his desk, fights the overwhelming urge to procrastinate and just watch KDramas until early in the morning, realize that Lilia is going to set him on fire if he does, and immediately goes to work.

 

If you look at him Yuuri may just seem like any other worker slaving through a pile of paperwork at 11 PM, mugs of coffee and red bull are currently his best friend (no offense Phichit, but caffeine is what he needs right now) and, like any other worker, is fearing the fiery wrath of their tyrant boss who figuratively wrings up her worker’s dignities in her high class office if they were to fail their job.

 

 _Yes,_ Yuuri is _technically_ like that, but he’s actually an undercover superhero/detective set to uncover the secrets of a corrupt agency that forces poor and confused workers to do hardcore physical labor…

 

Sort of.

 

His phone rings, Yuuri has to do a slightly demented version of the worm in order to reach it on the far end of his table. He sees Lilia’s caller ID, prays a silent hymn to the gods that he hasn’t fucked _anything_ up, and answers.

 

“Are you finished yet?” Lilia says, accent rough. Yuuri swallows.

 

“Almost, my sister called me-“

 

“So what if your sister called you?” Lilia huffs, and Yuuri sighs. “Have you called the venue operators yet? How about the program flow? Also, have you asked Sara about her publicity for her collection? She needs to work on her image…”

 

“Yes, yes, and no, not yet.” Yuuri says, cradling his phone with his cheek and shoulder as he ruffles through the stack of papers. “And Lilia?”

 

“Hm?”

 

“Are we still going to…” Yuuri says, biting his lip in anticipation as he hopes that Lilia doesn’t whip him for asking out of the blue. “… go with the plan?”

 

On the other end of the line, Lilia sighs haughtily.

 

“Of course we do.” Lilia says, but there’s a certain edge to her voice.

 

“But be reminded Yuuri, we’re doing this for the sake of the company.” Lilia snaps. “I don’t want your personal affiliations to in the way. It just so happens that the coincidences are high and my targets happen to be _your_ targets as well.”

 

Yuuri could not resist the snake-like smile on his face. “Yes ma’am.”

 

Lilia sighs; Yuuri could almost imagine the woman rubbing her temples with a perfectly manicured nail. “I can’t believe MARAA is sending us these models, it’s like sending a barrel of twigs, how disrespectful.”

 

Yuuri hums. “Do you actually believe they’re _starving_ the models?”

 

From the other end of the line, Lilia scoffs. “Of course they do. Other Modeling Agencies tend to stick to diet plans, but I’ve never seen something this… barbaric.”

 

Yuuri feigns a smile. “You care for them.”

 

Lilia huffs. “I don’t ‘care’, caring is not one of my main emotions, but I’ve seen them work with our designers. A foot of fabric is enough to wrap around their stomachs, their ribs are like clothing hangers, their legs are like _barbecue sticks_ , Yuuri.”

 

Yuuri sighs, knowing full well that Lilia was right.

 

MARAA (or Modeling and Recreational Arts Agency) is an agency that recruits young and aspiring models, man or woman alike. Now, that wouldn’t be much of a problem if only… well, if only the models didn’t look like Barbie in the middle of a famine. Their models are often seen skeleton like, it was almost terrifying, what was _more_ terrifying is the fact that the media absolutely gives zero shits.

 

Lilia, being the fashion equivalent of a mature and significantly less party animal Rihanna who absolutely gives _no_ fucks, wouldn’t have chosen to get roped into the situation if only MARAA hasn’t been stealing the models from the modeling agencies that partnered Euro. Homage. MARAA didn’t even need to _do_ anything, just wave the fancy housing and the golden company building chandeliers in the model’s faces and BOOM! Food and self care? _Nah_ , who cares about that? Now, time for torture and starvation!

 

Lilia was _furious_ as the corrupt company stole away some of the sales and models of European Homage, intent on shutting down the agency and exposing its abusive nature. You would’ve thought that Lilia’s wishes were too farfetched, but Lilia made a whole building full of people kneel to her will with just a purse of her lips, so don’t doubt anything.

 

At least they had a starting point: a previous model, a survivor of the tyrannical agency, tried to sue the whole company due to the exertion and exhaustion they put her through. Her name was Tessa, and she was crying for her fellow models. But what was a million dollar business against a small, harmless little witness? The models that were still _in_ the agency, however, were mysteriously silenced.

 

“Just so you know, Stammi Vicino is helping out with Sara’s collection for the show.” Lilia hums, Yuuri chokes on nothing in particular. “I authorize you to help her, her assistant is sick, she says.”

 

Yuuri chokes on his red bull. “Wait, so that means-“

 

“Yes, we’ll have Nikiforov and his fellow models walk the runway.” Lilia sighs; Yuuri feels a boulder drop onto his tiny chest. “You’ll assist her with fittings on the models; maybe help her with the designs.”

 

Yuuri slams his forehead onto the desk. “Why _Sara_ , dear gooood…” Sara was a nice person who likes hugs; Yuuri had absolutely _no_ problem with her. But the models she (and apparently _he_ too) has to work with were a problem.

 

(And yes, he is referring to a certain silver haired man.)

 

“Honestly, I think you’re trying to set me up.”

 

“Shut up; is that how you’re going to talk to your boss?” Lilia snaps, Yuuri doesn’t even flinch. He’s used to it, plus, Lilia wasn’t probably meaning it.

 

“Do you have the names of the coordinators yet?” Lilia says as she sips a drink. Yuuri flips through the papers, finds a list that had nothing but _three_ names on them. Yuuri sneers as he reads the names, all of them so dubiously familiar. “Yes.”

 

Lilia chuckles darkly.

 

“They’ll be attending the show to see their models. Make sure they get a slap in the face.”

 

“Can it be physically?” Yuuri murmurs before he could stop himself. Lilia laughs.

 

“My my, Yuuri, I never knew you could be so cold.” Lilia says. “Why, do you have a grudge? Well, of _course_ you do, perhaps?”

 

Not long after that, the line drops.

 

Yuuri sighs, setting his phone face down on his desk. He entangles the measure tape snake away from him, hissing and biting and Yuuri just realized the burning and crackling amount of hate in his heart. How alarming it was, to go from ‘guilty’ and ‘missing your family’ to ‘angry’ and ‘will definitely cut a bitch’ in a matter of approximately 2 minutes.

 

Yuuri picks up the notepad where he scribbled the names down, eyes staring down at the ridiculously familiar names, the names that were starving poor men and women and made them believe in unhealthy body standards and also provided as firewood to the forest fire in Yuuri’s heart.

 

_Three blind mice._

 

  * _Joaquine Delos Reyes_
  * _Gerald Lipschitz_
  * _Nona Hornthage_



 

Yuuri smirks, putting the little ‘X(‘ emoticon next to each of their names.

 

Because numero 1.) He’s petty as _fuck_.

 

2.) Because…

 

Well,

 

Yuuri smiles, returning to his work.

 

The farmer’s wife cut off their tails now.

 

:)

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

“Yuuri!”

 

Everyone, follow Yuuri! F is for _fucking hell, I forgot Viktor’s going to come in today fuck fuck fuck fuck ahhhhh,_ U is for _ugly, I am ugly, why did I choose to be ugly today oh my god I should’ve worn that cute brown cardigan I look like a hobo,_ C is for _can some magical earth deity command the ground to swallow me up now please I am begging you_ , K is for _Kentucky Fried Chicken, because I am stressed and a hot blue eyed man is approaching me, also, eating makes me happy and I am **nothing** like these skinny twig models that looks like they’re 80% bone, 20% regrets-_

And kids, what does that spell out?

 

…

 

That’s right!

 

FUCK!

 

That was the _only thing_ in Yuuri’s mind as he feels the Russian man approach their table. Sara gives him a concerned, albeit slightly amused, look. Oh well, if he dies now at least he could bestow Sara his designing legacy, and probably ask her to take care of his phone and make sure _no one_ sees his search history (and _no_ , he’s doesn’t look at porn, but Yuuri would rather _die_ than let somebody else know that he tried to look for remixes of the song ‘All Star’ from Shrek. He would rather _die_ ).

 

Yuuri tries not to jump at the warm hand that places on his shoulder, nor did he try to jump at the adorably smiling blue eyed man that he sort of mistakenly had a date with a few days ago (which turned slightly sour, thanks to him and a few lemons). But he did, and Viktor looks at him, concern lacing his features.

 

“H-Hi!” Yuuri squeaks out, eyes wide as he tries to remove the stiff smile on his face. He risks a look at Sara, who looked like a mix of the Undertaker from Black Butler and a person that just watched Inception for the first time. Her purple eyes screamed ‘there is a hot man standing in front of us what do I do’. Yuuri’s eyes screamed nothing but ‘AHHHHHHHHH’.

 

Viktor notices the Italian girl with them. He smiles, being the cheery fucker that he is, and holds out a hand. “Hi! I’m Viktor Nikiforov!” Viktor exclaims, as if nobody in the world knows about him and the birthmark by his hip. “I reckon you’re Sara? I saw some of your designs and collections, they’re absolutely marvelous!”

 

Sara flushes, her olive skin blushing as she takes the hand Viktor offers. This all looked like something that came out of a cheesy 90’s romantic comedy… produced by Michael Bay.

 

Yuuri clears his throat, coughing into his fist. “So, uh, shall we start?”

 

Yuuri was an anxious smol bean; able to skitter and fidget at any given situation if possible, but once the professional designer in him ascends from its anxiety cocoon, well…

 

You’ll see just how much of a tyrant he could get.

 

“Your theme is Masquerade, right?” Yuuri asks, tapping his lip with his finger. Sara nods, sighing vehemently as she fixes a rather… funky looking outfit on one of the male models. Sara’s designs were always   _astounding_ , a certain sense of calm was laced within her fabrics, and Yuuri was a nice kid, but the thing looked like something he would put on Vicchan. And Vicchan’s _dead_.

 

“Okay, I know, I _know,_ this is just… _horrendous_.” Sara gestures to the outfit on the model, she flashes the model an apologetic smile. “Not you, Roman, the _outfit_. As I was saying, I know it doesn’t go with the color scheme with the rest, and I know the frills are unnecessary, but it’s beta. I don’t even know if I’m gonna keep it, much less revise it.” Sara sighs. “I made a mistake, I wasted some fabric, I’m sorry.”

 

Yuuri laughs gently. “God, why are you apologizing? It’s like I’m your boss or something.” Yuuri moves from his position, which was trying lean casually on a table as Viktor Nikiforov watches, and takes a few steps forward to approach the two. “No, it’s not gonna be a waste of fabric, trust me.”

 

Sara looks up at him questionably. “And how is that?”

 

Yuuri purses his lips, the little snake starting to twine around his arm. “Well, I don’t know. I-It’s _your_ collection and I don’t wanna-“

 

“ _Please_ , Yuuri.” Sara nearly kneels, hands in a prayed position, as if she was praying to the gods… Which was mainly Yuuri, _if_ there is a god of anxiety and bad decisions. “I need help. You’re like the sovereign of fashion. _Please please please the deadline is coming up Lilia is going to hang my severed hands in her office along with the rest if I don’t pull this off please-“_

“Lilia hangs… severed hands… in her _office_?” Viktor asks, a slightly horrified look on his face.

 

Yuuri and Sara both sigh. “If we told you no, would you believe us?” Yuuri says, smiling shyly. He turns back to the slightly crazed woman in front of him.

 

“Alright.” Yuuri says, trying not to smile at Sara’s delighted squeal. “So… Uh, I think you need to remove the frills, like you said. The color is not that bad, it could be suiting with the whole ‘Masquerade’ thing. However, it could be fitting if you put the outfit on a girl…”

 

Sara looks confused for a moment. “But… But I tailored this to suit a man, Yuuri. How could I possibly have enough time to tailor it to suit a woman-“

 

“Easy.” Yuuri says, stepping forward. “You add a garter on the inside seams by the waist,” Yuuri points to the perspective sections. It would’ve been a little awkward to do so while someone else is wearing the outfit. Like ‘hi kids! Can you spot the nipple? Point where!’ but Yuuri is a professional. “so it bags up and accentuates a woman’s figure, plus, it’ll bag up so it’s gonna be much more classy.”

 

Sara nods, looking at the outfit. She takes a nearby measuring tape (Yuuri _swears_ he could hear hisses) and places it up to the man’s abdomen. “Here?”

 

Yuuri nods, and Sara squeals and hugs him tight.

 

“Yie! Thank you thank you so much! Oh god, I could _kiss_ you-“

 

“Now now, if your brother walks in, I’m _dead_.”Yuuri laughs, tries to pry Sara’s hands away, but while doing so he catches sight of Viktor Nikiforov’s face.

 

Viktor looked like a whiter, more Russian version of Morgan Freeman frowning, eyes dark and trying hard to look disinterested at the scenery. But since Viktor Nikiforov was heralded and chiseled by the gods themselves, he had this Angeline Jolie lip pout on his face, making him as attractive as ever. Just imagine a Russian handsome squidward. Yuuri doesn’t know if he should be laughing or crying… probably crying.

 

Yuuri feels himself falter. Oh god, what did he do? Were his recommendations to Sala _so_ terrifyingly horrible that even a non designer was horrified and that Sala was actually just being _really_ nice to him? Did he have chocolate on his teeth? Was his outfit _really_ that horrible? Oh god, he really _should_ have worn that brown cardigan-

 

Viktor clears his throat, feigning a smile. “Alright, so when are _my_ fittings?” He says, smile _painstakingly_ bright.

 

It was then that Yuuri still realized that Sara was still hugging him. “Yuuri, can you fit Viktor for me? Imma try and see if your recs worked! Well, of _course_ I know they will.” Giggling, she hands him a clothing bag and returns to the model who had the affronting article of clothing on.

 

Yuuri swallows and faces Viktor, trying to not smile awkwardly. Viktor smiles, still brighter than that sun baby from the Teletubbies. He’s just hoping that the older man would forget about their little dinner accident.

 

Yuuri hands him the clothing bag. “The bathroom is over there. The lights are hard to find, but the switches are by the back of the medicine cabinet and- _what the fuck are you doing._ ”

 

Viktor just stares up at him questionably, as if he hasn’t started stripping right in front of them all. Yuuri looked like that gif of a [black woman in a pink hat](https://media2.giphy.com/media/qz7fvG3ElTWA8/giphy.gif), shookt as if a man had just started stripping in front of her, which was _exactly_ what Yuuri was going through right now.

 

Yuuri didn’t need to turn around to see that Sara has spit out her water onto her model and she is now apologizing profusely. Yuuri could hear the screams of the people outside as Viktor pulled off his shirt and his pale skin and rock hard _everything_ was now on full display to blind every single citizen in the near 5000 meter radius. A few designers by the back collided into their perspective mannequins like a bunch of swerving cars because the sun was in their way.

 

Yeah, that sun was _Viktor_.

 

“I… Uh,” Yuuri says, rubbing his nose (which was probably red too, _just_ like the rest of him). “You… You don’t have to… T-There’s a bathroom right over _there_ -”

 

Viktor pulls on the shirt, Yuuri _swears_ he almost heard those standard disappointed ‘aaaaaaaaaw’ used in sitcoms. Viktor smiles, stretching his arms as the fabric flexed on his skin. The shirt looked _tight_ ; enough to show emphasis on Viktor’s… features. It’s like Sara did this on purpose (she probably did). “See? Done, don’t need to run to the bathroom.”

 

Yuuri nods weakly, feeling like 10 years of his life have been taken away. Another 20 goes down the drain when Viktor prepares to take off his pants.

 

“ALRIGHT, ALRIGHT, YOU GO TO THE BATHROOM _NOW_.” Yuuri says, swiveling Viktor around with the clothing bag in hand as he huddles the man to the bathroom.

 

Viktor pouts. “What is it, Yuuri? Don’t you wanna see a better view of my ass?” (Insert raunchy wink here)

 

Sara now spits her water on _Yuuri_ , and Yuuri doesn’t even complain. The little droplets of water do _nothing_ to encompass the heat that immediately goes up to Yuuri’s face, and maybe a few going in a… completely different direction, but that doesn’t matter.

 

Yuuri sputters out; trying to hope that the same earth deity from awhile ago could still let the ground swallow him up _now_. He looked as red as Jessica Rabbit’s sparkly dress, and he isn’t even _half_ as fabulous as that article of clothing. Viktor laughs as Yuuri swats at his arm and shoves him in the bathroom, the Russian’s tinkling cackling still audible on the other side of the door.

 

~~Yuuri didn’t need to get a better view of Viktor’s ass; Viktor wore _skinny jeans_ that didn’t hide _anything_.~~

 

Yuuri lets out a breathy sigh, sounding 40 years older as he slides down against the door and lets out a pained sob. Sara just sighs in sympathy.

 

“You’ve only started working him with… what, a few days ago?” Sara says, raising an eyebrow. “Honestly, how are you still alive?”

 

Yuuri is starting to sound like that old man from Up. “I have no idea.”

 

Yuuri then immediately tries to get up and head back to the desk, afraid of bumping into any possibly naked Russian men that could affect his blood pressure. Viktor eventually comes out, clothed, and he lets Sara get a good view of her design.

 

Sara side glances Yuuri, exclaiming how ‘ _it looks soooooo_ good _on you Viktor_ ’ before making a few adjustments, scribbling on her notepad with the determination that every good designer has.

 

Yuuri couldn’t help but admire ~~the blue eyed man~~ Sara’s design. It was _very_ Masquerade-ish, you could say; tight fitting black fabric with Mesh covering a portion of the upper torso, glittering with studded crystals and red accents and showing off a section of pale skin underneath. There seemed to be a half skirt on the pants, the insides a gleaming red as the skirt flowed with Viktor’s every move. There was supposed to be this handheld mask that came along with it, black and studded with crystals as well.

 

Viktor looked _good_ in it, but Viktor looked good in _everything_.

 

“Alright.” Sara says, beaming as she collects her notes. “You can change out of it now.”

 

Viktor chuckles, gives Yuuri a glance as Viktor grabs the hem of his shirt. Yuuri gives him a look that could perfectly translate into: ‘ _I stg if you start stripping in public again I will cut you’._

Viktor laughs and heads back to the bathroom.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Show day: Yuuri is stressed.

 

But he’s _always_ stressed, so what’s new?

 

He’s gotten used to the rather consuming routine of waking up early in the morning, slug down several cups of coffee, pray to the gods that nothing wrong happens or Lilia will hang their severed hands in her office, try to look moderately acceptable for the public eye, and hail a cab…

 

Well, he _used_ to hail a cab, back when he was broke and still fresh. Now Lilia _insists_ to use one of her numerous cars and chauffeurs to take them _anywhere._ Besides, they were going to _Pennsylvania_ , a fucking _three hour drive._ It didn’t take long for a car beep to be heard outside of Yuuri’s apartment. Yuuri gets his messenger bag, gives himself a once-over in the mirror, and slides into the shiny black van.

 

The van detours, picking up the fellow designers and coordinators for the show. It didn’t take long for the whole van to be filled with people in faux fur coats (animal cruelty is a _sin_ ) and boujee glasses. There was another van trailing them, filled with the models and clothing and basically the rest of the show’s necessities.

 

Yuuri sighs and goes to sleep, hoping that everything will go alright.

 

* * *

 

  

Everything was _not_ going alright.

 

“What do you mean: _it shrunk_?!” Sara shrieks, staring at the now-stretching outfit on the Russian man, her shriek audible in the midst of the hustle of the backstage. Yuuri raises an eyebrow, overhearing the dilemma. Her assistant cowers in on herself, trembling. Sara was usually mellow and cheery person… _except_ when 1.) Someone tries to steal her Panini 2.) Her brother scares away a potential boyfriend again 3.) An outfit apparently shrunk in the wash and she only found out minutes before runway time.

 

Guess which of the three happened?

 

Everything had gone smooth and exactly what they had planned… _until_ they tried to suit up Viktor for what they called the ‘Eros’ costume, and they barely got the zipper midway through Viktor’s back before the thing stuck, obviously not bearing the tightness and the mesh started to stretch.

 

Sara removes the upper portion of the costume in fear of stretching the fabric even more. Viktor shivers as his upper torso was now exposed to the elements. Her assistant trembles, bottom lip shaking. “I-I’m sorry, _signorina_. I told the laundry worker to put it on a gentle cycle so the linen won’t shrink, I don’t know how this happened…”

 

Sara sighs, rubbing her temples with a manicured finger. “Fine, fine, it’s… it’s alright, you’re not to blame.” Sara smiles weakly. She takes a nearby measuring tape and measures the stretched waist; Viktor’s face was blue and he looked like he could pass out at any given moment due to the tightness of the fabric.

 

“Alright!” Sara exclaims, her voice booming in the midst of the hustle and bustle of the backstage. Everyone freezes. “We can’t have Viktor model for this costume. Is there any guy here who has a 26 inch waist?”

 

The moment Sara’s purple eyed gaze fixated on Yuuri, he knew he was _fucked_.

 

 

* * *

 

 

The last of the previous designer’s designs were over, the last model disappears behind the curtain. The three coordinators for MARAA all yawn, already feeling tired of the sight of their models all walk down the runway. All of the designs seemed so… _plain_ and susceptible; their models deserve something better to be thrown on them, not trench coats and scarves.

 

“ **Now, we have ‘Masquerade’, designed and integrated by Sara Crispino!”**

The first model walks out, everyone is enchanted.

 

The designs were fresh and unique, Crispino sprinkled certain sort of ambiguity into her creations, making eye popping masterpieces and fairy-tale like designs. Of course, they would’ve stretched the effect of the clothes better if only the models… uh, didn’t look too _restrained_ by their lankiness, but it was enough.

 

Everyone latched onto every design, seeing the glitter and rhinestones sparkle under the flashing lights. A few stock marketers were already preparing to contact Crispino and ask to gain access to her designs for sales. Everyone was prepared to cheer and applause as one of the last few models disappeared behind the curtain.

 

That is, until _one last model_ comes out.

 

* * *

 

 

 

“Sara, _no-_ “

 

“Please Yuuri, I’m _begging you_.”

 

“I _can’t,_ you see? I have _no_ idea how to model-“

 

“I’ve seen you on trial runs, you can’t fool me!”

 

“I was fooling around!”

 

“Still, you’re the _only one_ who can fit into this costume and ‘Eros’ is the main limelight of my collection! I can’t _not_ have this outfit walk the runway or my career is over!”

 

Before Yuuri could wheeze out another decline, his phone buzzes in his pocket.

 

It was Lilia.

 

 

 

 

> **Ms. Baravnoskaya (delivered 1:23)**
> 
> Joseph told me about Sara’s mishap

 

 

Before Yuuri could text out a reply, Lilia has beaten him to it.

 

 

 

 

> **Ms. Baravnoskaya (delivered 1:23)**
> 
> Oh Yuuri… I thought you’ve always wanted to prove yourself?

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

A man walks out onto the runway, bathed in mesh, crystals, and tight fitting black linen glory.

 

A woman in the back spat out her drink in surprise, the people she had spat on didn’t even give a flying fuck as they were all enamored by the dark haired man with the half skirt swaying over his hips. Tight fabric stretched across the man’s form, a portion of his torso exposed with nothing but a thin layer of mesh over said portion. Crystals and rhinestones adorned the side, shining and glittering under the lights.

 

Even with the loud, thumping bass music flowing through the whole runway, everyone could hear _one_ distinctive sound…

 

_Clack… Clack… Clack…_

The man’s heeled shoes _clacked_ against the runway floors, the sound echoing into their heads. On his face, a rather stone cold look mixed with a certain sort of pettiness and smugness set in, brown eyes flickering over the crowd, as if searching for a certain person.

 

However, they could feel a certain sort of crackling intensity in the air. Zipping and swiveling throughout the room and electrifying every single person in the room. It was a certain type of energy that was enough to make you shiver for no apparent reason, making your toes curl…

 

It was familiar and alien at the same time.

 

_CRASH! CRACKLE!_

 

Joaquine, Gerald, and Nona both stare up at the model with jaws slackened, already knowing that they _had_ to recruit this bastard, whoever he is. If he was a model then _why the fuck_ didn’t they know of him before? This man was holding a little reel and hook, baiting it over their heads to try and allure everyone who wants to take a bite. When the man swivels around, walking back to the curtains, everyone gets a _fantastic_ view of his lithe… figure.

 

The man, somehow, snatches the eye contact of the three coordinators.

 

He winks.

 

Before Joaquine, Gerald, and Nona have anything to do about it, the man disappears behind the curtain, an applause following his footsteps.

 

* * *

 

 

 

The moment Yuuri exits to the backstage, someone immediately tackles him. That someone was a certain purple eyed Italian.

 

“Ohmygodohmygodohmygod! You were _fantastic!_ ” Sara says. Yuuri feels like all sorts of oxygen was squeezed out of his lungs. “You _totally_ saved my collection! Oh my, Imma treat you out to Chipotle later on, how about that? That was just…”

 

Yuuri smiles, trying to drone out Sara’s endless thanksgivings and praises. A few coordinators applauded, each of them beaming and winking and patting him on the back.

 

A certain silver haired man approaches him, smiling a certain smile that Yuuri could not place, but his blue eyes were shining with a certain sort of ambiguity. Viktor applauds, beaming at Yuuri. “Wow, where’d you learn how to walk like _that_?”

 

Yuuri sighs, prying Sara’s hands off him. “Countless of hours watching Project Runway with my friend, that’s where.”

 

Yuuri didn’t even know how he pulled it off. He was _sure_ that he looked like a lopsided horse when he turned earlier on, and his butt was probably on full display. He felt his stride too heavy and his steps too stiff due to the swirling vortex of anxiety and nervousness in his heart.

 

But people were here. They were congratulating him for a job that he didn’t even have.

 

“I’m starting to think that you’ve sabotaged the costume just to replace me.” Viktor says, smirking and raising an eyebrow playfully. Yuuri rolls his eyes.

 

“Ah, yes. It has always been my _lifelong dream_ to knock you down.” The two chuckle, lighthearted and with no known animosity or whatsoever..

 

A cough behind them.

 

Yuuri turns to see three little blind mice, and their little entourage of starved models behind them.

 

Gerald beams at him, one of his silver teeth glinting in the lights. “Your performance awhile ago was truly extraordinary!”

 

_“You fat pig!”_

“We hope we can recruit you to work for MARAA, or Modeling and Recreational Arts agency.” Nona says, blonde curls bouncing.

 

_“You really thought for a chance that-“_

“This is a mere once in a lifetime experience in a model’s career, so we hope you do consider!” Joaquine says, smiling as she passes him a business card.

 

_“Seeing you makes me want to puke-“_

_Crash! Crackle!_

Did you ever see, such a sight in your life, as three blind mice?

 

Yuuri smiles, folding the business card in half.

 

“No thank you.” Yuuri says, smiling the cheeriest smile in his life. He sort of regretted it, his cheeks _did_ hurt a little, but it was _oh-so worth it_. The three looked taken aback for a moment, surprised to be turned down for the first time in their life.

 

Beside him, Yuuri could feel Viktor jolt, giving him a knowing glance. Yuuri’s smile tilts a little to the side, cocking his head.

 

Gerald coughs, trying to give him a smile. “W-Well, are you sure? We have good housing facilities-“

 

“We pamper our models-“

 

“And you’ll get good pay!”

 

Yuuri could feel the sugarcoated words exit through their mouth, and he just then realized the type of poisoning these three henchmen did to poor, unsuspecting models.

 

Step 1.) Bullshit them with your lies, just so they couldn’t even _think_ of running away.

 

Step 2.) Haha, bitch, you’re not eating until your waist is smaller than a roll of tape.

 

Step 3.) Scrounge money from these starving souls. When they accidentally die, tell the press and their poor family that they were depressed and chose to starve themselves.

 

Yuuri knew it was morbid and uncanny, the fact that some agencies in the past have tried to cover up what should be called a ‘murder’ with nothing but the sentence ‘oh well, you know what they say, fashion _is_ sacrifice, right?’. It was horrifying and barbaric, but it _was_ true, and it’s _terrifying_.

 

Yuuri smiles, trying hard to not let it turn into a full blown snarl.

 

“No thanks, I’d rather have my ribs intact and my stomach full rather than being stuck in your _concentration camps_.” Sarcasm and mockery overflowed Yuuri’s mouth, dripping snake like onto the floor and biting the three of them all at once.

 

Oh, it was petty. It was _so_ petty.

 

The three of them look like a mix of affronted, horror, and shame. Maybe a glorious concoction of the three, anyways, Yuuri was _enjoying_ it.

 

“H-How… How _dare_ you!” Joaquine says, her voice still snotty and shrill, just like Yuuri had remembered it years ago. Yuuri smiles.

 

“Brace your asses, Lilia is _pissed_.” Yuuri says, enjoying the look of horror in their eyes as he familiar name comes up. Legend says that if you chant the name ‘Lilia Baravnoskaya’ in a mirror three times, Lilia will come to your bedroom later that night and scream at you before decapitating your head. It’s true, Yuuri has witnessed it himself.

 

“You thought it would be _fun_ to mess around with Euro. Homage?” Yuuri’s voice drops, eyes narrowing as he takes a few steps forward, hoping that the Russian behind them wouldn’t listen in to their conversation.

 

Yuuri sighs, handing them back to who seemed like Nona, ivory wedged daintily in between his fingers. “So no, I’m not accepting your cute little _offer_.”

 

He leans closer, blue eyes glinting with olden memories, each one as sour as the next.

 

“Besides, it’s not like you’d want a little _piggy_ in your team, right?”

 

It was like a… hm, oh yes! It was like dropping a pebble into still water. You would see how much a little rock could affect an entire ocean, sending rippling waves that were enough to destroy cities and continents. Yuuri could see the little waves of fear and shock climb their way up the three blind mice’s faces, showing on their expressions as they stare at a man that has buried a machete into their minds.

 

Before the three could say anything, a couple of security guards approach them. Yuuri smiles, thankful for whoever created coincidences. “Hey, the three of you are not authorized to enter the backstage area. Please leave now or we’ll have to escort you out.”

 

Joaquine sputters out, eyes wide as her gaze flickers to the security guard and back to Yuuri, then back to the security guard. “B-But… He-“

 

“I said _please_ leave _now_ or we’ll have to _escort_ you out.”

 

The three all give him a look that was a mix of ‘scornful’ and ‘are you real right now’. As the three turn to walk away, Yuuri gives them the pettiest wave you could imagine.

 

The group of models turns to walk away too, but Yuuri lashes out before they could. “Wait!”

 

All of them freeze, giving Yuuri surprised looks. Yuuri’s petty and haughty look dissipates away into nothing, and Yuuri tries to give out his softest smile. He gestures for them all to huddle, and he sighs. “Tessa misses you, she says.”

 

A few of them gasps, a girl nearby immediately starts to water up. “I-Is… Is she alright?”

 

“She’s still in the hospital and recovering, the doctors say she has anorexia but… I know that’s not the case.” Yuuri sighs, shaking his head.

 

“You all know they’re _destroying_ you all-“ Yuuri says, before being abruptly cut off.

 

“But we _chose_ this.” One male model says, throat bobbing. “They say we have to lose weight or they’ll _never_ let us walk the runway-“

 

“That’s bullshit, and you know it.” Yuuri says as softly as he could, hoping that he wouldn’t agitate any of them. “This isn’t right and if any of you keep this up, you’ll end up like Tessa.” A few of them look down at the sentence, jolting as the memory of their exhausted and starved friend whirs back into their minds.

 

Yuuri digs out a business card from his pocket. “ _Babicheva & Co., _a rival company of MARAA and partners of Stammi Vicino and Euro. Homage.” Yuuri reads out, hands it to a nearby model. “They’ll take care of you there, with healthier diet plans and better facilities. And not to mention, the instructors are all sweethearts.” Yuuri says, hoping that he had the power to change their minds.

 

“They’re also broad-minded to all types of body structures, do you remember the infamous ‘plus-sized display’ last 2014?” Yuuri says, a knowing smile on his face. “They’re the one who supplied the models.”

 

Yuuri places a gloved hand on a nearby model’s bony shoulder. “You don’t have to torture yourselves for the sake of fashion.”

 

The models all nod weakly, tiredness etched onto their faces as the battle scars of being a model display on their faces.

 

Yuuri smiles. “Try to tell the others, alright?”

 

When the group of models disappear, Yuuri sighs and rubs his nose ( _yet again_ ).

 

“Wow, that was _very_ empowering.”

 

Yuuri jumps at the silver haired man’s voice, completely forgetting that Viktor was there. Viktor chuckles, blue eyes shining.

 

“W-Well, what can I say? They don’t dub me as Martin Luther King Jr. for _nothing_.” Yuuri says haughtily as he tries to look for his clothes amidst the chaos and probably try to change out of the scratchy mesh costume. Viktor laughs, but the mirth in his tone fades away.

 

“So it’s true?” Viktor scrunches up his nose. “I’ve always been adamant about the rumors, but seeing it myself is… wow.”

 

“I know.” Yuuri huffs, grabbing his sweater from a nearby table. “I’m surprised they’re not in _jail_ yet.”

 

Viktor hums, nodding. “I’m glad you told them off.” Viktor smirks, eyes glinting. “I had no idea what you last said, but they absolutely looked _horrified._ ”

 

Yuuri smiles a knowing smile. “Yeah, I don’t know why… I just said that I’m not a _model_ , that’s all…”

 

Viktor purses his lips, looking at a faraway distance.

 

“Yeah, but they kinda look familiar… I don’t know why-“

 

Yuuri tried not to freeze at that sentence. He just smiles at Viktor before heading to a changing room.

 

“I don’t know why, either.” Yuuri says under his breath, smirk visible.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the amount of rihanna i listened to while writing this makes me wanna shoot a bitch and ride away with their convertible and their rich husband.
> 
> oh, right, our bby yuuri would do that for me.
> 
> lesson numero uno kids: don't try to force twisted society standards on aspiring models and starve them for the sake of fashion, or else Yuuri will cut u
> 
> In all seriousness, this is a real issue. Lots of companies and agencies tend to stick to the usual body standards, like a tiny waist or six pack abs or whatever the fucking hell. Most of them tend to forget how to healthily attain these standards and _starve_ their models just to get this result much faster. Grotesque or not, there are _actual models_ who have died due to this, and it's not right.
> 
> Idk why this riles me up, but I want to let ya'll know that you are beautiful just the way you are. And if you want to have a sexy waist or buff biceps, there's def nothing wrong with that, but PLEASE tend to stick to healthy diet plans and regular exercise. There's a difference between 'trying not to eat that much carbs' and 'trying not to eat anything at all'.
> 
> Guess which one is the healthier option.
> 
> I know starving yourself could seem easier than having a rigorous diet and exercising (albeit starving yourself _is_ quite hard too), but it's dangerous and I would never recommend it to anyone. Your health is more important than anything, remember that.
> 
> All in all: PLS TAKE CARE OF YOURSELVES I CARE FOR ALL OF U GET GOOD HOURS OF SLEEP DRINK MILK AND EAT WHATEVER THE HELL U WANT, okay now dats out of the way 
> 
> *cowers on the floor* I AM SORRY FOR THE LATE UPDATE. I HAVE BEEN STRESSED, AND INSTEAD OF UPDATING A CHAPTER I GIVE YOU A SHITTY BEAUTY AND THE BEAST PODIUM FAMILY AU (pls check it outhehehe). BUT HERE, I HOPE YA'LL LIKE THIS. I FEEL LIKE IT'S SHIT, BUT YEAH.
> 
> *whispers* if u want to clear things up about the 'three little mice', read the first chapter and pay attention to the things certain three people say to Yuuri... :3
> 
> *whispers whispers* and yes, I used an excerpt from the nursery rhyme 'three blind mice'
> 
> *whispers whispers whispers* the amount of memes this chapter has is too high
> 
> ALSO, THE LOVELY indiemaxx has created a [Russian Translation](https://ficbook.net/readfic/5460289) of this fic! I am honestly so shookt, to any of my Russian readers out there, you can check it out in the link! *falls over*
> 
> [check out my shit tumblr](https://jmoncheri.tumblr.com)
> 
> EDIT: DID ANY OF U SEE DA YOI ON STAGE DERS GON BE A MOVIE HYYYYYYyyYyyYYpPEEE


	6. sick of those wounds that never heal

Yuuri has the bad habit of wandering New York when it’s night.

 

He knows it’s a bad idea, since there are multiple possibilities of him being mugged or killed. But he does anyways, because even when he tries what he can to forget, sometimes he forgets the important things as well.

 

On more than one occasion, Yuuri sometimes forgets himself.

 

He forgets because he’s always been busy with the habit of running away. To be frank, he’s a person who _was_ good at running away. From what, you may ask? Numerous things, to be frank. Like that one rabid dog that chased him around the corner once, or from the deadlines that plan to creep up on him nearly every week, or maybe the unending urge to binge eat on a regular basis. Either way, he was good at avoiding the things he planned to avoid.

 

One of those things were his memories.

 

Yuuri dodges an incoming speeding taxi, not even fazed by the risqué driving.

 

One may ask, how the _fuck_ do you forget memories? It was like trying to run away from calories once you’ve already eaten the unhealthy, carb infused food. Speaking of, burning fat is a slow and painfully long process, enough to make you want to chug a bottle of Clorox just so you can end your suffering.

 

Despite the copious urges to just give up and stay painfully obese for the rest of his life, Yuuri pushed through it and tried to go through the unending pull food had on him.

 

Yuuri had tried to burn the fat… for quite a while now.

 

It could be a metaphor for two things: 1.) His painfully obese body, or 2.) His painfully obese memories. Why? Because he’s an artist who had capabilities to integrate every day, normal terms into deep shit, that’s why.

 

And now, he has cheekbones enough to cut a bitch, a waist line enough to cut a bitch, and long gangly arms enough to cut a bitch. All in all, he now had the body that was sufficient enough for efficient bitch cutting, which is a thing that Yuuri happens to do on a regular basis…

 

Well… _Unknowingly_.

 

Yuuri tries to not feel bad for the poor people on the streets, outside their perspective restaurants or boutiques, selling something with a bunch of flyers in their hands. Who _wouldn’t_ feel bad for them? Nonetheless, Yuuri politely declines their offers of ‘free unlimited housing for the rest of your life!!!!!!!!!’

 

But despite all that, he can _never_ get the image of him, with double chins enough to rival a staircase and body rolls you can hide in for an eternity, out of his head. He wonders how he’d managed to survive that _one year_ without breaking down. And yes, sure, he _did_ crawl out of that hell hole barley alive, but he’d given up nonetheless. Sometimes… he wonders what would’ve happened if he stayed there.

 

 _Just ignore them._ He remembers saying to himself. _People get make fun of all the time_.

 

But _not_ in design school, where people have coat hangers for collarbones and waists enough to shove in a doughnut hole. Everyone in his college was… _beautiful_ , slim and fit for the industry. He was an immediate stand out, not to mention the fact that he was Japanese with a weird accent. Everyone had their frustrations, and he was a punching bag that people let their pent up rage on.

 

And he _tried_. _Tried_ to focus on his studies and his designs and he _tried_. But he looks at a mirror, looks at his classmates, sees that he was a whale in the midst of beautiful koi, and can’t help but feel the want to cut a knife through his fat while the snake goaded him on. It was disgusting and not a good mindset, but Yuuri couldn’t help himself.

 

 _You’re beautiful_. One kind man says, with shining eyes enough to warm Yuuri’s cold world. His voice was the only sounds that Yuuri could hear in the midst of the hissing, and he was thankful for it. _But the only person who could truly give a say on who you are is yourself, don’t forget that._

And despite those warm words, Yuuri let the hissing and the snakes slither up into his mind anyways.

 

Until one night, he can’t take it anymore.

 

_CRASH! CRACKLE!_

The thunder engulfed him, and he let himself drown.

 

But now, he was zipping with electricity and with the energy enough to fuel the fucking _sun_. He promised himself that he won’t be the blushing, stammering, mellow boy he used to be. He’d be savage, ruthless, hissing and biting until his fangs fall out. And then he’ll forget and be satisfied, and finally… he’ll move on.

 

He’ll forget… And he’ll be happy.

 

He’ll burn the fat, he’ll forget it all.

 

Except he doesn’t.

 

Yuuri shivers, looking at the night sky. The glowing rock tortilla always managed to comfort him, or some whimsy bullshit like that.

 

They still come back at him. Sometimes, late at night, his shoulders are permanently hunched and his mouth is stuck in a grimace as he awakes from a dream that was never meant to be relived again. Sometimes, flashes of the same old sneering faces fly through his mind. He forgets, then he remembers, then he forgets again… Which is a bad thing, because one he remembers again, it’ll come back more biting that ever.

 

And don’t get him wrong, he never had anything against people with plus sized bodies. In fact, he had a soft spot for them after all. He wanted them to feel accepted and loved and _not_ feel like whales in the midst of koi. He knew that everyone was beautiful, and he wanted the world to know that through his creations. And he was happy to know that society was starting to accept the fact that the barbeque sticks they called ‘models’ weren’t a healthy idea.

 

 _“I owe my career to Y.K_.” One of the plus sized models says during an interview. She had her coming out event at the plus sized collection Yuuri held, and now she’s working for Victoria’s Secret. _“Without him, I’ll probably still be flipping burgers at this point. We all have our aspirations, there’s nothing wrong with pursuing them.”_

Yuuri cried for three hours straight after that.

 

Yuuri knew he could be successful, knew he could be happy even when he got his fat back.

 

But what made him ashamed of himself… Is the fact that he doesn’t want to, doesn’t want it back, _doesn’t want the fat back_.

 

“Excuse me, sir?”

 

Yuuri jumps. “No, I don’t want a sample-“

 

The kind old lady chuckles, Yuuri prepares himself if he was going to encounter a Beauty and the Beats moment whilst trying to see if the old hag will turn into a hella fine enchantress. “No, I’m not going to offer you anything.”

 

Yuuri feels a flush of embarrassment climb up his throat. “I-I’m… I’m sorry.”

 

“Don’t be, dear.” The kind old lady says, both of them sitting under the same bus stop. “You looked a little lost.”

 

Yuuri shakes his head. “I’m alright, ma’am. I’ve lived in New York for three years.”

 

“Of course you did.” The kind old lady says, Yuuri is a little unnerved. “Are you going through a lot?”

 

Yuuri sighs, feels himself still.

 

 _Burning and burning and burning_ -

 

“You could say so.”

 

* * *

_“Hey, we have a problem.”_

_“What’s that?”_

_“Baravnoskaya is planning to overtake the Milan’s Men Fashion Week again.”_

_“Are you serious? That… **bitch**.”_

_“Most of the designers contributing to the event are all under her, it’s like she wanted the rest of us to go bankrupt or something.”_

_“She must be. What about that pig parading coat tail of hers?”_

_“Y.K? No information yet. We’re trying, though.”_

_“I’m sure he’ll be contributing as well. We can’t afford to have sale marketers kiss his feet again, we have to do something.”_

_“I have something in mind, don’t worry.”_

* * *

“Hello Mr. Katsuki, I’m Mila Babicheva.”

 

Yuuri smiles as he shakes the redhead’s hand, already liking the friendly demeanor this woman was giving off. Of course, he knew of her before, since she was the one who supplied him most of the models he used for his collections. But maybe _she_ didn’t know _him_.

 

“Just call me Yuuri, I’m no one special.” He says softly, glasses low on his face. Mila just chuckles.

 

“Don’t say so. Anyways, is there any way I can talk to Y.K? Or… Is it not allowed?”

 

Yuuri tries not to freeze at the question, reminding himself that he’s gone through this numerous times. More than a handful of people have talked to Y.K… without even _knowing_ it was Y.K. It was like asking a butterfly about a missing caterpillar without realizing that the butterfly _was_ the caterpillar. He just smiles. “May I ask why?”

 

Mila purses her lips. “I talked to Lilia about the incoming Milan’s Men Fashion Week, it has something to do about Y.K’s upcoming collection, but she just said to go to you? Why? Are you his… assistant, or something?”

 

Yuuri swallows, the same old lazy smile on his face. There was always this sense of satisfaction that you feel when you know something that others don’t.

 

“You… You could say so. I’m just Lilia’s… assistant. Anyways, what do need to tell to Y.K? He’s a very private person and any messages he gets go through me first.”

 

Mila nods, digging something out of her purse. It’s a clear book with a shiny, glossy red cover. Yuuri has seen this clear book _so many_ times already… maybe even accidentally spilled coffee on it once but _shhhh_ …

 

“Here are the models we’re supplying him with. Everything is accounted for, I’m certain that he already knows them all since we’ve been working with him for so long, but we have someone new on the roster.”

 

Yuuri blinks, eyebrows lifting. “Really? May I ask who he is?”

 

Mila flips open the clear book, lands on a profile of a… a _really_ young man, maybe in his teens. “Yuri Plisetsky. He’s the newest model, and he has a _lot_ of potential. He’s pretty famous already and he’s only fifteen. Lilia wanted him to walk on the runway under Euro. Homage.”

 

Yuuri nods, looking at the shoulder length blond hair and the green eyes, stony and staring at the camera like he was about to propose a fist fight because someone ate all the marshmallows in the Lucky Charms box. Honestly, who _wouldn’t_ propose a fist fight at that?

 

“He looks… sprightly.”

 

Mila sighs, half chuckling. “I have to warn you though, he’s rather… complicated.”

 

Oh _no_. Yuuri remembers someone calling a person ‘complicated’. The word ‘complicated’ would be a rather _big_ understatement. He prepares to hear something about tourettes, overly dramatic princess complexes, or just the overall douchebag syndrome. “Elaborate?”

 

Mila scrunches up her nose; Yuuri already knows that she is finding appropriate words just so she won’t say anything particularly nasty. “Ah… Yuri, he’s, _well…_ Rather free willed.”

 

Yuuri’s eyebrows rise.

 

“He’s generally a cool kid, but he’s… well, he’s-“

 

“He’s fifteen right?” Yuuri says, crossing his arms. “Let me guess… uses bangs to cover one eye, listens to heavy metal on a daily basis, and wears studded jackets under sweltering hot weather?”

 

Mila snaps, eyes alight with mirth. “ _Exactly_ , man… you’re good at this. And it’s usually a _leopard printed_ studded jacket.”

 

Yuuri smiles, reminiscing the overly angsty and edgy teens _other_ model recruiters sent him, with heir smokey eyes and their spiked boots. He tries not to shudder.

 

_Burn the fat, burn the fat, burn the fat-_

 

He shakes the image of scowling edgelords out of his mind. “It won’t be a problem. Y.K’s been through worse.”

 

Mila just nods. “But don’t undermine him. He’s fluid and graceful; not to mention that he’s rather skilled at ballet.”

 

Yuuri’s eyebrows rise at the statements… Huh. Well, it would be good to at least connect with the young man. “When will he come in?”

 

“Tomorrow, if it’s alright.” Yuuri nods and Mila smiles warmly. “Thank you so much Yuuri. Oh, and warn Y.K to brace himself, will you?” Yuuri chuckles as Mila gives him a wink, and she bids him goodbye.

 

* * *

 

 

The next day, when Yuri Plisetsky came in, Yuuri expected _many_ things.

 

He expected a motorcycle roar to echo throughout the whole street as a blond haired boy jumped off with his 800$ Gucci sneakers and his 150$ Nike String Bag. He’d walk down the hallways of Euro. Homage like he fucking owned it, huffing the emo bangs out of his eyes only to adjust it back to where it was again.

 

Yuuri stares at the teenager in front of him, the dollar store leopard printed jersey on him glinting in the light and his blond hair loose and unkempt as his one green eye glared at him through his bangs. He looked like he was about to roundhouse kick him with the tiger printed converses on his feet.

 

“What are you staring at, asshole?” Russian accent, sounded like he needed to take a shit but there was a line and now he was blaming the world. Yuuri just smiles.

 

“Yuri Plisetsky?” He says, smiling gently. He doesn’t try to initiate a handshake since the boy looked like he was going to spit in his hand if he were to do so. He nudges his head, gesturing to the whole expanse of the studio. “Right this way.”

 

Grumpy Cat scoffs as he follows him in the studio overran with models and frantic designers. They stop by Yuuri’s little nook by the corner, he takes an unopened bottle of Redbull and raises an eyebrow at the man, waving it in the air. “Want some?”

 

The Russian scoffs.

 

Yuuri feels a certain sense of dejection, and he scrambles to not make anything awkward. “Well, guess not-“

 

Grumpy Cat snatches the can from his hand and opens it like he was breaking a neck.

 

Yuuri smiles.

 

The minute Plisetsky has thrown the can into the nearest trash bin with one hand, he looks around. “Where’s this Y.K dude anyways? Is he going to be the one to fit me?”

 

Yuuri gnaws at the inside of his cheek. “Oh… No. He’s… busy, so _I’ll_ be the one fitting you today!”

 

Grumpy Cat rolls his eyes. “Can’t even see his own models fit his stupid designs? He’s way into the secret identity thing, it’s pathetic.”

 

Yuuri smiles knowingly as he heads for the nearest clothing rack, pulling in the clothes he made himself with his bare hands mixed along with his blood, sweat, and tears.

 

“Oh, you have _no_ idea.”

 

* * *

 

 

“Ugh, this is stupid.” Plisetsky growls under the glitter and buttons. Yuuri purses his lips, observing his creation on the younger man. White and crisscrossing with mesh alongside with silver and gray accents swirling across the torso. Yuri looked good in it, with his slim frame accentuating the stretch of the fabric. He looked like an angle contrasting the hissing and biting persona this young man held.

 

“It suits you well.”

 

“Bullshit. I feel like Snowdrop just shat me out of her ass.”

 

Yuuri chokes, feeling the coffee drip into his throat. Guess the headlines for his death: Yuuri Katsuki, death by teen edgelord.

 

Yuuri’s eyebrows rise with amusement. “Funny, because _look_ who knows about My Little Pony in the first place.”

 

“Shut _up_!”

 

Yuuri chuckles in endearment. “You look good in it, the silver accentuates you well.”

 

“Look who’s talking.” Yuri rolls his eyes for the umpteenth time. Yuuri is slightly concerned of the possibility that this boy’s eyes will forever stay stuck to the back of his head. “Don’t act like you’re some professional multimillionaire designer who actually _knows shit_.”

 

Yuuri smiles.

 

Hoo boy.

 

 _He’s underestimating me_. Yuuri thinks, shoving his hands in his pockets. _It’s alright_. “Well, _maybe_ I’m _not_.” Yuuri says knowingly, walking closer to the rack of clothes. “What do you suggest we do?”

 

Grumpy Cat seemed rather confused at first, his green eyes widening for _just_ a fraction. “What?”

 

Yuuri smiles, pulling the clothing rack closer and gesturing to it, all of his creations wrapped and dry cleaned lovingly. “You seem like you know what suits you, so I want you to put together a whole outfit of your choice.”

 

Yuri stares at him, looking like an angel ready to slit his throat.

 

“Are you mocking me?”

 

Yuuri raises an eyebrow. “Why would I? Now come on, pick.”

 

Yuri seems a little dumbfounded at first, green eyes searching and a little lost as he stares at the rack. “I… They never let me…”

 

Plisetsky seemed like a cat with his fur on end, ready to pounce and claw, but he slowly heads over to the clothing rack all the while never leaving his gaze on Yuuri. Yuuri couldn’t blame him for his response; designers often tend to be rough around the edges and rigid with their models. Yuuri was rather fluid of for his kind, so he could afford letting the younger man show Yuuri what he wanted.

 

After a few minutes of what seemed to be intense soul searching, Plisetsky pulls out a black outfit with a shiny purple jacket accompanying it. Yuri goes to change for it immediately.

 

Grumpy Cat exits and Yuuri smiles at the getup.

 

It seemed like his edgelordness was now flowing freely like a faucet. His purple jacket shone under the light and it looked something like a sonic OC would wear, albeit it _did_ look very fashionable. He wore one of the old ripped tank tops Yuuri designed a few years back alongside with these dark, slim pants.

 

All in all, he _did_ know what suited him. Albeit the white, angel esque costume suited him as well, it was like he handed the creativity control over to this edgelord, and it was alright.

 

Grumpy Cat spread his arms out a little, eyebrow raised as he let Yuuri inspect him.

 

“Well?” Yuri says, voice a little impatient. Yuuri takes a nearby notepad, scribbles on it.

 

Yuuri scrounges for some accessories, hands a golden cross necklace and some shades to the boy.

 

“Would it be alright if you tie your hair up?” He asks as he holds out a rubber band. Plisetsky seemed at loss for a moment, looking at him incredulously, before nodding as he ties a portion of his hair back, the lower half still free and wild.

 

Yuuri smiles, swiftly sketching the whole getup in the notepad before he could forget it. “I think this’ll be a _great_ addition to Y.K’s collection! You have rather… good taste, mister Plisetsky.”

 

Yuri raises an eyebrow. “Wouldn’t be that Y.K douche be a little mad about adding… _this_ to his stupid collection?”

 

Yuuri smiles. “I’ll bet he’ll like it. Besides, his collection is going to be an array of different themed getups anyways, but they’ll all have one same theme.

 

“And what is that?”

 

Yuuri smiles fondly, remembering the long nights of over thinking on what his next theme should be.

 

“Love.”

 

Plisetsky scoffs, rolling his eyes.

 

“I didn’t know I’ll be parading around in some ditzy, sappy themed clothes.” Grumpy Cat murmurs scornfully, Yuuri just giggles behind a hand. Surprisingly, this man’s sneers do not affect him. “Besides, how will _this_ fit into that ‘Love’ theme anyways?”

 

Yuuri’s lips purse, tapping his foot against the polished studio floors. “Hm… love for Madness, I suppose?”

 

Yuri scoffs, but his eyes alight with mirth. Yuuri smiles, hoping that he gets on this boy’s good side. He seemed like a person with so much potential, it would be a shame for it all to go to waste.

 

“Alright, don’t forget about the Agape costume, you’re still obliged to wear it since you’re the only recorded model we have who has the same measurements.”

 

Plisetsky groans in exasperation.

 

“However, you’re free to do so if you want to walk the ‘love for Madness’ outfit on the runway.”

 

Plisetsky slightly perks up at that, green eyes widening a little as he tries to not let his excitement show. “R… Really?”

 

Yuuri smiles, nodding. “If you’re comfortable and proud of it, then yes.”

 

Yuri gives him a rather… interested look, albeit it was mixed with a certain sense of caution. “Why… Will Y.K even _allow_ this?”

 

Yuuri chuckles, shoulders shaking.

 

“He will be, trust me.”

 

* * *

 

  

 **Unknown Number** [7:30]

 

Yuuri? Hey, how are you!

 

 

 **Me** [7:31]

 

???

 

 

 **Me** [7:31]

 

Who are you?

 

 

 **Unknown Number** [7:31]

 

U wound me :(

 

 

 **Unknown Number** [7:32]

 

This is viktor, btw

 

 

 **Me** [7:32]

 

Oh

 

 

 **Unknown Number** [7:32]

 

U gave me ur phone no a few days back, right?

 

 

 **Me** [7:33]

 

Yeah, hold up, let me change your contact name first

 

 

 **Unknown Number** [7:33]

 

Ooh, it better be something that suits me… like doctor sexy or something, idk ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

 

 

 **Me** [7:34]

 

Yeah, yeah, pls wait

 

…

 

…

 

…

 

 **Russian Guy Fieri** [7:35]

 

Well??? R u done???

 

 

 **Me** [7:35]

 

Yup yup yup

 

 

 **Russian Guy Fieri** [7:36]

 

Tell me what it is ;)

 

 

 **Me** [7:36]

 

I’d rather… not

 

 

 **Russian Guy Fieri** [7:37]

 

Why not??? Is it that sexy ;))))))

 

 

 **Me** [7:37]

 

Oh it is

 

 

 **Me** [7:37]

 

It’s VERY sexy

 

 

 **Russian Guy Fieri** [7:38]

 

Why is my intuition tell me that ur messing with me :(

 

 

 **Me** [7:38]

 

Your intuition must be wrong then :)

 

 

 **Russian Guy Fieri** [7:40]

 

(ง'̀-'́)ง

 

 

 **Me** [7:40]

 

Don’t fight me pls

 

 

 **Russian Guy Fieri** [7:41]

 

I wont, silly :P

 

 

 **Russian Guy Fieri** [7:41]

 

Anywayysss, yakov is telling me to go to ur studio tom, apparently hes extra jittery about the upcoming milans men fashion week

 

 

 **Me** [7:42]

 

Is he now?

 

 

 **Russian Guy Fieri** [7:42]

 

Mhm

 

 

 **Russian Guy Fieri** [7:43]

 

Apparently he wants ‘things to get done or I am going to wring your neck if you mess this up vitya’

 

 

 **Me** [7:44]

 

Wow… Now I get why Yakov and Lilia managed to get married

 

 

 **Russian Guy Fieri** [7:45]

 

Yeah

 

 

 **Russian Guy Fieri** [7:45]

 

Wait what?!!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!??!??!#?3

 

 

 **Me** [7:46]

 

????? you didn’t know??????

 

 

 **Russian Guy Fieri** [7:46]

 

?????!?!?!?!?!!?1?1!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!

 

 

 **Me** [7:47]

 

It’s… a long story. I’ll tell you tomorrow.

 

 

* * *

 

 

“KATSUKI-KUN.” The chicken nugget dipped in ketchup exclaims rather happily as Minami latches onto his arm, jittering happily as Yuuri tries to prevent his eardrums from blowing out. His eyes blow wide as Minami grins from ear to ear with these little fanged teeth planted unto his gums.

 

“I… I… Yes?” Yuuri says in Japanese, recognizing the newest Japanese trainee who just came in a few days ago. Minami grins even wider… If it was even _possible_.

 

“Alright, alright.” Minami takes a few deep breaths, recollecting himself.

 

“I think that you should know that I’m a HUGE fan of Y.K!”

 

Yuuri tries to not stiffen at the statement, feeling his confused smile stay plastered to his face like a fucking mannequin as Minami blabbered on about his ongoing idolism.

 

 _Oh shit, does he know?_ Yuuri internally screams as Minami literally forms little cartoon heart eyes right in front of him. Who knew fans had the ability to twist physics and reality? _Certainly_ not Yuuri. _Does he know? Who told him? I swear to god I’m becoming a dysfunctional Clark Kent-_

“And I have something to give him, it’s a fan letter! I don’t know how I’ll be able to give it to him, though, but Crispino-san told me to go to you!” Minami says, clutching a little envelope to his chest. Over his shoulder, Yuuri gives a little glare to Sara. Sara just winks and gives him a thumbs up. “How? Why? Are you close with him? Is he in this studio right now? Is he as amazing as other people say he is-“

 

“Minami…” Yuuri says, half chuckling with nervousness. “Calm down-“

 

“Yuuri-kun, you can’t expect me to calm down!” Minami jitters excitedly. “I’ve worked so hard to get in Euro. Homage just to _see_ him! Look, I even wore one of the getups in his early collections!”

 

Like Superman, Minami opens his coat to reveal one of the tackier outfits Yuuri designed back in the day, where he was young and new and was still a very stupid amateur. Yuuri tried not to cringe at the sight of the baby blue sweatshirt and the dark pants, and he knows he should be _flattered_ that his fans go as far as wearing his designs but _come on_. His early designs wouldn’t look good on _anyone_ , not even on a certain hot Russian model.

 

“Ugh… M- _Y.K’s_ dark past…” Yuuri shudders like Satan just licked up his spine, and almost instantly, Minami’s excited expression contorts into an affronted look; Yuuri is immediately reminded of Grumpy Cat yesterday.

 

Yuuri tries not to gasp as every war-freak Tumblr user converges and is poured into Minami, his bronze eyes electrifying with immense protection for his idol _against_ his idol. He looked a slightly more demented version of the affronted meerkat meme, and Yuuri does not have time to prepare himself.

 

“Y.K does _not_ have a dark past!” Minami exclaims, almost every person in the vicinity jumps at the statement, Yuuri tries his best not to curl in on himself. “He’s an eternal god and no one will be able to replicate what he does!”

 

A flash of anxiety spirals up Yuuri’s spine when the surrounding designers roll their eyes or groan. Yuuri couldn’t blame them. Sara just flinched and gave him an apologetic look. Less than a handful of people know who he truly is, so in the eyes of his fellow designers, Y.K was a designer that rarely came out of hiding and Yuuri was just a ditzy designer in the making.

 

“M-Minami, please calm down-“

 

“Don’t you _dare_ make fun of him, because that means you’re making fun of _me_!” Minami says, now a little sadly as his eyes droop. Yuuri now feels considerably bad, and _oh no, you hurt a minor_. “Now, can you give this to him or not?!”

 

Yuuri could barely nod before an ivory letter was shoved at his chest; it was noticeably sprayed with perfume. Minami glowers at him.

 

“You _better_ give this to him.”

 

As Minami stalks off, Yuuri wonders how little dinosaur children managed to be so scary.

 

Someone coughs behind him, Yuuri does a 180 degree L’Oreal hair flip and sees that Viktor is standing behind him with arms crossed and with some ditzy woman in a bun behind him. They seemed to have seen the rather invigorating show that had just occurred, but Viktor looks like he’d just been Rick Rolled for the fifth time that day.

 

“Viktor!” Yuuri says, shoving the letter in his pocket. Viktor raises an eyebrow at the action. “You’re… early.”

 

“I’m on time, Yuuri.”

 

Yuuri inhales awkwardly, lips pursing. He nods slowly. “Right you are.”

 

Viktor sighs; he faces the woman behind him. “You can go now, Natalie.”

 

The woman looks like she stuck a burnt tortellini on her dark hair. “Are you sure, sir?”

 

“I’m positive.”

 

Burnt Tortellini Lady bows like she was somewhere stuck in 18th century Korea before stalking off with her heels shaking the whole earth’s crust. Yuuri raises an eyebrow as she looks over her shoulder and gives him a… searching look, something that you’d reserve for the dude that cut you off at line.

 

“Who… Is she?” Yuuri half whispers as they make their way to the fitting rooms.

 

“She’s a new assistant; we had to do some business transactions before coming here. I told her not to follow me in anymore.”

 

Yuuri hums as he sets up the clothing rack, all of his designs bagged and pressed carefully just so no one could see a single thread of his creations. He had an identity to protect, after all, and it _wasn’t like_ he could hide his career behind a pair of glasses.

 

Yuuri pulls out one of the bags, faces Viktor-

 

Viktor looks… constipated.

 

Not _that_ constipated, but… angry constipated. Like he was angry at his gut for not being able to digest shit properly. Yuuri raises an eyebrow, handing the bagged suit to the model who closely resembled the other Russian Yuuri worked with.

 

“What?”

 

Viktor just sighs as he takes the bag, giving Yuuri a knowing look as he exits the fitting room to change.

 

“You should’ve a little bit more motivational to that kid, Yuuri.”

 

Viktor walks away before Yuuri could utter out another word.

 

* * *

  

“This is wrong, _so wrong_.”

 

“Yuuri, calm down-“

 

“I… I just _can’t_ , alright?” Yuuri says, rubbing his temple. “I’m _running_ out of time, I’ve wasted foots of fabric, and the main suit is absolute _shit_.”

 

“It’s not… _shit_ , alright?” Viktor says, looking down at the tacky purple suit on him. It was boringly purple and standard, like someone poached Barney and turned his skin into a suit. “Sure, lacking potential, but it’s not shit.”

 

“And why is that?”

 

“Because _you_ made it, silly.” Viktor says softly, a little twinkle in his eyes. “ _None_ of your creations are shit.”

 

“Well, _this_ is about to be.” Yuuri says, trying hard to will away the small flutter in Yuuri’s heart. “Besides, I’ve kept you here… for _hours_. I’m so sorry-”

 

“Don’t be.” Viktor says, shrugging out of the top part of the suit. He was now shirtless, and Yuuri wasn’t even _fazed_ anymore. Who knew that anxiety could mask up your inner squealing fujoshi? Yuuri did. “I’ll be here for as long as you want me to be.”

 

Yuuri just hums, wondering how he managed to blush even in the midst of anxiety bashing his brains in. “Alright… but how am I going to change this whole outfit with so little time?” Yuuri holds up the top part of the suit, and he vaguely registered that Viktor’s skin just made contact with this piece of fabric just a few seconds ago, and he tries to push away the creepy thoughts in his head. Viktor just sits on a nearby stool, looking at the suit thoughtfully.

 

“How about you add a bit of… embellishments?” Viktor says, voice unsure. Yuuri raises an eyebrow. “Like you said before, it _is_ a little bland. But you’ll find a way to work around it, I’m sure.”

 

Yuuri just rubs his forehead, knocks back another swig of coffee. He’d drink more Redbull but he’d run out.

 

Viktor looks a little concerned.

 

“Aren’t you drinking… a bit too much?” Viktor says warily, Yuuri just shrugs away all the concerns that have built up on his shoulders.

 

“I need it or I’m going to pass out at any given moment. Now, put this back on and we’ll see what we can do.”

 

Eventually, the sun decides to nope the fuck out and sinks below the horizon, now a giant glowing tortilla replaces it and Yuuri couldn’t find himself to be comforted by _one bit_. Slowly, his fellow designers all pack up and leave the studio, and Yuuri and Viktor are all alone. He’d been used to being alone in the studio before, it gave him a sense of calm, and the peace and quiet was rather comforting… except for that one time he got locked up once, _man_ , that was traumatizing.

 

“Viktor, you should go home.” Yuuri sighs tiredly as he slumps back on his chair. “It’s late, I feel guilty for making you stay here.”

 

Viktor yawns, shrugging off the top part of the suit. Yuuri is too tired to drool over his torso. “Are you sure?”

 

“Yes, I am. I’ll stay here and continue working on it.”

 

Viktor looks a little concerned. “Yuuri, you need to rest.”

 

“I’m fine, really, I’m used to this.”

 

“It’s not a good thing to overwork yourself, Yuuri. You should know that.” Viktor says knowingly, his tone holding a certain edge, like trying to gently coax a snake out of hiding.

 

Yuuri tries to stay still at the statement, unwanted memories flash by his mind, ones that he is yet to burn, and he almost shudders. Working late at night, a flash of fabric, golden threads and moonlight. Two figures working together to fight through the system, one a little unsure and the other terrified at the situation.

 

Yuuri shakes his head.

 

He does _not_ want to remember. Not now, not ever.

 

“Fine, fine, I’ll go home.” Viktor smiles comfortingly at the statement, and he helps Yuuri up from his chair. Yuuri goes to pack up his things while Viktor dresses up. Yuuri is hit by the wrecking ball of familiarity; like his mind was an unfinished construction site and they just tried to blow it all up. He tries to not remember when or where this situation has happened, but he does anyways.

 

Yuuri shudders, almost smacking himself on the head-

 

_Rattle rattle-_

“Uh, Yuuri?”

 

_Rattle rattle-_

 

Oh _no_.

 

Yuuri’s heard that before.

 

Viktor peeks from around the corner, from where the exit to the studio stood.

 

“Uh… I think we’re locked up.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

_“Any new information?”_

_“I barely got anything, sir.”_

_“Well try harder. Anyways, why are our shared sales with MARAA declining?”_

_“Sir, I ought to let you know that they’re slowly going bankrupt.”_

_“What the **hell**? What happened?”_

_“I’ve seen their progress reports and statistics for the past week. The models are withdrawing, either quitting or moving to different recruiters. Their photographers are going as well.”_

_“Does Euro. Homage has anything to do with it?”_

_“We’re still trying to find out, sir._ ”

 

* * *

 

 

“I’m all out.” Viktor sighs as he stares at his dead, looking at it like it was a dead war veteran and he was now preparing to perform a symbolic funeral. It was sad, considering that Yuuri’s now comparing a low battery phone to a war veteran. Yuuri, being the idiot he is, forgot to take back his phone from Phichit when the Thai borrowed his phone. Yuuri doesn’t know why he asked for it, probably something meme related.

 

“What are we going to do? The janitor is probably home by now.”  Yuuri says miserably as he slumps against the wall, remembering that one traumatic time he got locked in. He nearly cried, and when Leo and Guang opened up the studio the next day Yuuri is curled up in a ball with cans of Root Beer surrounding him like some demonic sacrifice.

 

Viktor sighs tiredly, running a hand down his face. The immense guilt Yuuri feels is too unbearable. “Viktor… I’m-“

 

“No, don’t apologize.” Viktor says, plopping on the worn couch by the wall. “You don’t mean to.”

 

“But you could’ve been _home_ right now, in your bed… probably surrounded by Egyptian cotton sheets.”

 

Viktor laughs, his voice filled with mirth. “I use Silk Euro Sham.”

 

“Even _worse_.” Yuuri says, wondering if Viktor is the long lost son of Bill Gates. Russian Guy Fieri just chuckles all the while yawning, looking like a demented mixture of both.

 

Yuuri just sighs, feeling the Redbull and caffeine buzz through him, showing no signs of tiredness. Yuuri sometimes wonders if caffeine will be the death of him one day, and then he remembers that there is a volcano under Yellowstone powerful enough to eradicate human civilizations that was decades due to explode, and he just shrugs and takes another swig of Redbull.

 

“I might as well get to work.” Yuuri says as he slumps over his desk. Yuuri watches Viktor curl up on the couch. “Do you want me to get a blanket or whatever?”

 

“Nah, I like the cold.”

 

 _Of course you do_. His mind unknowingly supplies, and he cringes.

 

_Burn the fat, burn the fat, burn the fat-_

Hiss hiss, bitch.

 

He tries to ignore the snake that intertwines around the nearby mannequin, the worn fabric creasing under the long tape measure. Man… he _really_ needed to stop drinking so much energy drinks, they were muddling his mind.

 

 _Viktor is probably annoyed at your right now, you irresponsible shit._ Kaa from the Jungle Book says, Yuuri _swears_ he is going insane. _How could you do this, huh? How could you-_

“Hey, Yuuri?”

 

Yuuri jolts, dropping the pencil in his hand. Viktor stares at him from the couch, looking concerned. “Are you alright? You… zoned out.”

 

Yuuri nods shakily for a moment, staring down at the Barney costume. “I… I’m fine.”

 

“Are you?”

 

Yuuri rubs his eyes, nodding weakly.

 

“It’s pretty late; you should go to sleep as well.”

 

“I’m not sleeping until I finish this.”

 

“It’s almost past twelve.”

 

“Yes, Viktor, I am aware of the concept of time.”

 

Viktor frowns at him. “You _really_ know how to take care of yourself, don’t you?”

 

Yuuri smiles at him from the desk, his lampshade illuminating his ghostly face. Yuuri’s wondering why Viktor hasn’t run away yet. “Wonder how I lasted for twenty three years without dying?”

 

Viktor hums. “Let me guess, lots of-“

 

“Anxiety about my diet and wellbeing? Yes.”

 

“I was going to say ‘caffeine’ but yeah, sure.” Yuuri couldn’t help but laugh at that, knowing full well that it was true in all of its entirety.

 

“Go to sleep, Viktor, I’ll be alright.” Yuuri says, smiling tiredly. Viktor pouts from his position on the couch.

 

“I won’t sleep if _you_ won’t sleep.”

 

“Viktor, you’re _literally_ hindering my ability to work.”

 

“If that means that you’ll be able to go to sleep instead of working your ass off, then I’ll do it.”

 

Yuuri chuckles, shaking his head as he runs a hand through his hair.

 

“You’re insufferable.”

 

“I know.”

 

“But still, go to sleep.”

 

“Not unless you sleep first.”

 

Yuuri smacks his head on the desk, feeling his forehead grease catch on to the precious design paper; he immediately extracts his head in order to prevent the design from looking like a fast food plate. Viktor chuckles, mirth filling his voice.

 

“Fine, fine, let me finish this as quickly as I can without making the suit looking like a decapitated Barney.”

 

“You wanna get a flash of inspiration?”

 

 _Does he_? A flash of inspiration would be _fantastic_ , _wonderful_ , _god sent_.

 

“Try reading that fan letter the weird lion kid asked you to give to ‘Y.K’.”

 

Yuuri scoffs, resting his head on his hand. “I don’t know, I don’t think Y.K will be alright with me opening his fan mail.”

 

Viktor chuckles. “I’m sure he’ll be alright with it.”

 

Yuuri smiles knowingly as he digs it out of his pocket, the ivory still freshly pressed and obviously made with love. Yuuri smells a hint of vanilla, he had this thing in his pocket and he probably smelled like Pillsbury Doughboy’s asshole the whole day, but he opens it anyways.

 

You know that moment when you’re reading a book, you get really engrossed in the whole setting and characters that you forget you’re an actual human being for once? It’s a really good thing when you’re reading masterpieces like Harry Potter or The Golden Goblet or some shit like that. Fifty Shades of Grey? Um… No thank you.

 

Yuuri feels his heart swell with… pride? Is that what you call it? Anyways, it’s a _very_ alien emotion as Yuuri reads out the endless gushing the younger man has written out on the paper. Endless flattery, promises, and aspirations to ‘ _become the greatest designer just like you!_ ’. Yuuri is suddenly reminded of his younger self, when he was still hopeful and innocent and wrote fan letters to designers that didn’t even know of his existence.

 

Yuuri bites his lip. He didn’t deserve this. He didn’t deserve a talented boy like Kenjirou to look up to him. He was insecure, cowardly, and so _terribly_ flawed in so many ways. People bought clothes from a man they didn’t even _know_ of, much less idolized one. But he remembers writing to his idols, then waiting for a response that never came back. He feels terrible all of a sudden, not knowing what to do.

 

“Well? How is it? Judging from the look on your face, it looks like he must’ve sent you a used tampon.”

 

Yuuri scoffs. “He’s wonderful. I have no idea why he decided to write to me. He literally had Sala Crispino work next to him awhile ago.”

 

Viktor huffs, like he couldn’t believe what Yuuri was saying.

 

Yuuri wonders why.

 

“Feel inspired yet?”

 

Yuuri just meekly nods in order for Viktor to _not_ think that he’s a dick. Minami was a wonderful kid who had great dreams and Yuuri felt like his system was filled with endless caffeine just because his letter made Yuuri so _happy_. But he had to work on a mangled Barney pelt, and he was running out of time.

 

He jolts when Viktor suddenly appears over his shoulder, peering at the sketch curiously. Yuuri tries to not fidget under his gaze, even when he knew Viktor was looking at the sketch but not him.

 

“You said it’s too bland, right?” Viktor says, Yuuri just hums, hands itching for some Xanax.

 

“Try adding some fantasy elements to it, like a unicorn or something… I don’t know, _anything_.”

 

Yuuri giggles. “Viktor, remember that you’ll be the one wearing this suit.”

 

Viktor scoffs, feigning a mock look of insulted on his face. “Are you saying that I won’t be able to look good in a unicorn suit?”

 

Yuuri smiles. “Fine, I’ll think of your suggestion. Now, go to sleep.”

 

Viktor pouts at him before reluctantly returning to the couch.

 

Yuuri is in the midst of an existential crisis.

 

“Hey, Yuuri?”

 

Yuuri doesn’t look up from the paper. “Yes…?”

 

“Do you… Is it alright if…”

 

Viktor stops short, Yuuri nearly breaks the pencil in his hand.

 

“Nevermind.”

 

Yuuri relaxes considerably.

 

For some reason, he feels terrible.

 

“So, how the _hell_ did Yakov and Lilia manage to get married?”

 

Yuuri prepares himself for story time and war veteran flashbacks.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Viktor is already asleep.

 

Yuuri couldn’t help steal glances as Viktor’s face is pressed adorably against the couch cushions, looking oddly comfortable. His hair, even if a little tousled, looked aesthetically pleasing against his pale face. Viktor was a walking Tumblr girl’s dream, and Yuuri couldn’t disagree even with the drool on the corners of his mouth.

 

Viktor managed to look like an ethereal river goddess, Yuuri was certain that he looked like some swamp demon when _he’s_ asleep.

 

Speaking of, Yuuri could already feel the signs of tiredness tug on his eyelids. If he kips this up, he’ll end up falling asleep on the design and have drool as a part of his collection.

 

The occurrences happened more than Yuuri would like to admit, wherein he just attained this _wonderful_ thing called ‘artblock’. He’d pretend to be responsible and sit on his desk so that he’s giving himself the illusion that he’s got his shit together. Usually he’d go out and stare at flowers or some fantastical shit like that just to get inspired again, but he’s currently stuck inside a studio with the hottest male alive, so it was _kinda_ hard.

 

He reaches for any sort of caffeine in order to sustain his energy, he finds out he’s run out, and he laments on jumping out the window.

 

There were nights like these when he forgets himself, where there was nothing to distract him from the thoughts and guilt in his mind. He’s trapped in his own little world and artblock wasn’t letting him go. He couldn’t find anything to pour his frustrations out to, and it _sucks_.

 

He looks over to the sleeping man on the couch. Viktor looked so at peace, so calm and collected and everything was going alright in _his_ world. Yuuri was constantly stuck in a swirling vortex, strewn around and abused by the winds as he’s being swept away by the chaos. Viktor was in the eye of the vortex, where everything was calm and everything was alright. He looked like a magical fairy, or a knight, maybe even a prince-

 

The wrecking ball of inspiration hits him. He almost shouts in glee as he reaches for a nearby golden pencil.

 

* * *

 

 

Yuuri wakes up the next day, the studio now open and his fellow designers shaking him awake, concerned.

 

There’s a blanket around his shoulders.

 

(Designers stayed in the studio _so often_ it turned into a dorm room)

 

((Except it wasn’t Yuuri who put it on him))

 

“Yuuri? You should go home.” Sara says, _very_ concerned. “You work too hard, and if you don’t get out of this studio, I am having my brother haul you out himself.”

 

Yuuri packs up at the thought of the Crispino brother dragging him through the doors.

 

On the design, someone placed a little sticky note.

 

_It’s nice, but I’ll prefer the unicorn suit ;)_

Smiling, Yuuri doesn’t bother to throw out the note.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

A few days later, after several hours of actually _taking care of himself_ and catching up on Game of Thrones, he returns to the studio.

 

However, instead of heading straight to his desk, he passes by little Minami’s desk. It was still empty, the younger man won’t come in for another ten minutes or so.

 

He slips a letter in his drawers.

 

An hour or so later, the chicken nugget arrives.

 

Yuuri waits for ten minutes.

 

Exactly ten minutes later, there is a shriek loud enough to shatter all of the windows in the building complex. Yuuri could feel Lilia jolt from the top of her fancy office, and Sala nearly chips her nails as she tries to sew on a skirt.

 

Yuuri waits for five seconds.

 

After a couple of seconds of fawning, Minami tackles him.

 

“AHHHHhhHhHhhHhHhhHhhhhhH-“

 

“You’re welcome.”

 

“AGGHHJJJHHHHISHKAJHDJKSKD-“

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *japanese dogeza position*
> 
> i'm SO SORRY, I HAVENT UPDATED IN SO LONG HOLY SHIT. IM TERRIFIED OF THIS CHAPTER SINCE IT SEEMS A BIT TOO BORING AND FILLER-Y, AND IM SO S O R R Y
> 
> alas, my beautiful cat son has finally appeared. we shall see more of him later on;) 
> 
> [check out my shit tumblr yall](https://jmoncheri.tumblr.com)


	7. but i still don't understand

 

 

 

Back in Hasetsu, when Yuuri was still a pure and innocent youngling, he had a piano.

 

But they had a small, quaint house adjoining to the hotsprings, so don’t expect anything fancy, like a Grand Piano. Yuuri could barely afford decent fabrics, a Steinway and Sons would be too much. His piano… or should I say keyboard? His keyboard was like the breadsticks of pianos, small yet very meaningful. When Yuuri wasn’t hunched over some fabric late at night, tiny tinkling could be heard throughout the onsen.

 

And they might be quiet and mellow, but it was enough to drown out the thunder.

 

_Crash! Crackle!_

Like a boom box drowning out a hurricane, Yuuri quickly found means to distract himself from the existential horrors of life. He’d play small portions of songs, not completing them, _never_ completing them, because he either got too busy or bored with the song. His mother would scold him, saying that he should just settle for one. But he couldn’t. Never could.

 

And when Yuuri moved to Italy, then to New York, he’d never gotten the chance to bring the dusty instrument with him. How, and why would he? Besides, it’s not like he could foot the seven foot long keyboard in his suitcase. It was already filled with mannequins and such, it would _never_ fit there.

 

But he misses it, misses the keys he’d labeled with notes because he’d never gotten around to memorize them. Then he realized that not only did he miss the keyboard, but he missed the entirety of Hasetsu as well. He’d never fail to feel guilty; he’d never fail to feel guilty at the thought of his family. He’d achieved many things in the past, but visiting his family wasn’t one of them.

 

Nonetheless, if he was going to give repercussions for it, the time was now.

 

He walked up the church steps, the polished marble under his heeled shoes clacking. _Clack clack._ He could already hear the purgatory inside as some priest drones on, loud enough to hear from the outside.

 

When he approaches the doors, the bodyguards that line the doors all approach him, death in their $15 dollar shades.

 

Yuuri swallows the ball in his throat and musters up his balls.

 

“Let me in.” He murmurs, low and monotone, like in one of those action movies.

 

The guards do not move.

 

“Late guests are no longer allowed into the ceremony. It is best if you wait for the reception, which is three hours away sir-“

 

Yuuri chuckles, eyes flickering to each and every one of them. Yuuri knows they’re trying hard to not let it show, but they freeze under his gaze.

 

“I’m not staying for the reception.”

 

The guards still do not move.

 

Yuuri sighs, brown eyes feigning mock disappointment. It doesn't seem like these entities will be budging any time soon. Only the purest and most concentrated of bribery would be able to convince them to step aside.

 

SO he uses the most powerful of them all.

 

He pulls out his wallet.

 

They all perk up noticeably, and Yuuri tries not to laugh as he pulls out a crisp $100 bill, shinier and crispier than his future.

 

Being one of the world’s renowned fashion designers had its perks.

 

He hands it to the nearest guard, but before the guy could get hold of the bill, Yuuri snatches the bill away.

 

There’s an evil taunt in his eyes, like a devil trying to sneak his way into heaven. His eyes glint as he tantalizingly runs the bill under the man’s jaw, not anything too raunchy for his tastes, but he knew he made the bodyguard squirm.

 

“Just let me in first…” He whispers, voice low, finally stopping the bill right in front of his face.

 

The other guards all watch, too frozen to move.

 

The guard, after reevaluating his life choices, slowly pries the bill from the man’s hand as a bead of sweat runs down his forehead.

 

“Right this way, sir…”

 

The other guards all jolt as they bark out ‘ _what the fuck are you doing, man?_ ’, and before they could stop Yuuri from entering the doors, Yuuri looks behind his shoulders and throws out another handful of bills.

 

They don’t follow him after that, and Yuuri cackles at the absurdity of the human species. How easy they were to fool, to taunt, to manipulate. It was a little sad, actually, considering he used to be someone like that.

 

Yuuri doesn’t go straight for the pews. _Ohoho no_. He enters stealthily, his feet dancing lightly on the marble floors as nobody notices him enter, nobody turns to look at him and wonder who he is. The bride and groom are in front of the altar as a priest drones on and on about standard wedding vows and shit, a batch of paparazzi is sitting by the corner, waiting patiently.

 

Yuuri smirks, creeping to the hallways that decorates the entirety of the whole church, ducking behind columns as he tries not to let his presence be known. A few glance, give him looks, but no one dares to interrupt the extravagant wedding.

 

It was the wedding of the lifetime, the tabloids say.

 

Yuuri’s lips tilt.

 

 He straightens his suit. Dark blue and slim, he’d easily blend in.

 

Eventually he reaches the man sitting by the organ by the corner. He stares up at Yuuri for a moment, young eyes wide and confused as Yuuri tells him to get out of the chair.

 

“B-But… But _why_?” The young boy asks, confused. Yuuri feels bad for a moment, so he pulls on a tight lipped smile.

 

“Madame Anya wanted to sing a special surprise song during her vows; she said she forgot to tell you the instrumental for it so she asked me to do it instead. I’m a close friend of hers.” He lies right through his teeth, the toxins sipping right through his gums and dripping unto the carpeted church floors. He wonders how he has come to this, manipulating and lying through his teeth-

 

The piano boy’s eyes flit around for a moment in wild confusion and Yuuri tries his best not to fidget, hoping that he didn’t fail-

 

“Alright.”

 

Yuuri tries not to shake as he slides on the stool, feels his pulse thrum through his hands.

 

He doesn’t know how he has come to this. It’s like just yesterday he’s been trying to slip a thread through the eye of a needle for the first time. He wonders how much he’s changed, how much he’s evolved throughout the years and sometimes, when he thinks about it too much, it would scare him to bits.

 

He feels his phone buzz in his pocket and he quickly fishes it out, trying to wipe away the sweat forming in his palms.

 

 

> **Lilia Baravnoskaya** [12:34]
> 
>  
> 
> We’re right outside the door.

 

 

And right at that moment, everyone jolts as the sound of bodyguards grunting in pain echoes throughout the whole church. It sounded like they were having a painful orgy, which is an understatement, since they were in a _church_. Everyone turns to see what the ruckus was and the priest stops talking, eyes widening.

 

Immediately, Yuuri’s hands fly to the keys, prepares to press down-

 

The priest stutters for a moment, not knowing what to do.

 

“I-I… Uh, speak now or forever hold your-“

 

 _“It’s Britney, bitch_.”

 

Georgi, in all of his electric blue eye shadow glory, pushes the church doors open as smoke wafts behind him.

 

Yuuri raises an eyebrow, wondering how Lilia allowed Popovich to be this extra, before slamming down on the keys.

 

One could wonder how a death march-esque organ could sound so electrifying, so lively and intense, but Yuuri managed to make everyone jolt as the organ music fills the room. Loud, mystifying, Yuuri thanks Beyonce for inspiring him like this or he never would’ve done it. He slams on the keys, concentrating solely on the music.

 

_Crash! Crackle!_

 

All the while, Georgi struts down the aisle, heeled shoes echoing amidst the loud organ music as the blue eye shadow forms tear tracks down his eyes. Everyone watches, too amazed to care, Georgi was one of the world’s most renown fashion models, easily standing next to Viktor and Christophe Giacometti. The Russian managed to twist reality with nothing but a jut of his hips.

 

Yuuri risks a glance and smiles when he sees Georgi in one of his outfits. Dark blue and shimmering, it was like a fairy tale costume turned into a tux. Yuuri knew it would suit Georgi the moment he pulled it out. Georgi wanted to wear the tighter one, the light blue spandex suit that made him look like a distressed Elsa.

 

Yuuri doesn’t let the model embarrass himself, so he refuses, much to Georgi’s dismay.

 

The song hits its crescendo and Georgi perfectly times it so he’s now standing in front of the altar, _right_ in front of the shocked couple.

 

“I object.” Georgi murmurs, malicious grin on his face. Lilia’s henchmen can be seen pining the bodyguards from awhile ago down on the pavement.

 

And from the doors, Yuuri could see Lilia in all of her glory, high heels made of steel.

 

No one will be able to stop them.

 

“ _Georgi_.” Anya hisses, spitting the name out of her mouth like it was poison. “Even up until my wedding you chose to disrupt my happily ever after with your drama!”

 

There’s a flash of hurt in Georgi’s eye shadow clad eyes, but his eyes swiftly turn into hard stone. “You’re too delusional, Anya. Did you really believe you’re going to live happily with this mobster?”

 

Anya glares at him, brown eyes narrowing as she burrows herself deeper into her husband-to-be’s hold. “Miguel has been nothing but good to me and he’s not overly dramatic! Unlike _you_.”

 

Georgi laughs, the sound echoing throughout the church as people all watch in shock. Yuuri slides off the stool, preparing himself if he needs to intervene. “Ah yes, I may be overly dramatic, but at least I’m not dense enough to overlook the fact that your fiancée is a criminal.”

 

Almost everyone bursts out in that cliché, comic relief ‘Huh?!!?!!??!’, the ones you see in old black and white movies? Yuuri expected the air to crackle with the intensity, and he cannot help but feel a bout of regret.

 

Anya, or whoever the fuck she is, just got outed in front of a dozen of people, not to mention the paparazzi having a field day by the corner. Yuuri couldn’t help but feel his heart clench at the thought of being in her shoes. Humiliation on your wedding day? Ouch.

 

But Yuuri knew things, knew things that shouldn’t be known. And it cleared his conscience, _just_ a bit

 

Right at that moment, they could hear an angry yell. Anya’s father appears, coming from one of the side corridors, holding a brown envelope.

 

Yuuri smirks, recalling the night he put together _that_ envelope.

 

“You’re part of an organized Money Laundering syndicate?!” The old man barks, veins popping on his forehead as he shoves the envelope against the groom, pushing him so the shocked man stumbles against the altar. “So _this_ is why my company has been going bankrupt! You’ve been sucking off us, you bastard!”

 

The guests all gasp, more than a few already starting to leave, heading for the exit as they stay five feet away from Lilia because from the looks of her, she looks like she could stab everyone who comes near her with her heels. Yuuri watches as the papers fly to the floor, recalling his long hours of research, investigation…

 

Anya’s eyes are impossibly wide, looking around at the scene. She gives Georgi a malicious glare.

 

For some reason, she wasn’t totally perplexed by the thought of her fiancée being a criminal.

 

Yuuri knows why.

 

“I’m calling the police on you and whoever you’re working with. You’ve embarrassed me enough! Just wait until my father gets his hands on you-“

 

“Now, that’s not such a good idea, isn’t it?” Yuuri murmurs, taking a few steps closer.

 

Anya swivels to face him, shitty veil on her face disheveled and she flips it out of her face. Before she could say anything Yuuri beats her to it. His tone is low and quiet just so Anya could hear, but the glint in his eyes say otherwise.

 

“Wouldn’t daddy dear be a little upset to find his princess locked up?”

 

Anya’s eyes fill with wild confusion, if not a hint of fear. “W-What… Why-“

 

“Actually, he wouldn’t…” Yuuri continues to murmur, glancing at the angry old man who is ordering his bodyguards to beat up the poor groom. “Considering the fact that he might do it himself…”

 

Yuuri couldn’t help but feel a sense of satisfaction when Anya’s eyes fill with fear, his words meaning _so_ many things but this woman seems to know what Yuuri meant.

 

Yuuri chuckles under his breath, hoping that his gaze would burn holes into her soul.

 

“Your father might suspect that your dear _boyfriend_ might be the one who laundered the company business…” He whispers, circling her like a watchful hawk. He nods at the group of men beating up the poor groom while her father watches, visibly still angry. He flashes a look at Georgi, who seemed very pleased beneath his blue eye shadow.

 

“But in reality, it was you, wasn’t it?”

 

Anya was… awfully quiet.

 

And so awfully, visibly, scared.

 

Yuuri smiles, sweet and venomous as Anya flinches under his gaze.

 

“Your father is a good man.” He says, dignified. “I wonder what happens when the world finds out that you’ve been sucking off your acquaintances under his precious company name...”

 

Yuuri registers Anya trying hard to find an answer, her red lips parting and closing like a blubbering fish. She was drowning, and Yuuri pulled her ashore.

 

_Clack… Clack…_

Yuuri turns around, sees Lilia walking down the aisle, her shoes clapping loudly against the floor despite being carpeted. Her gaze is stony and very much terrifying, and Yuuri could feel Anya quivering in fear at the familiar face. Yuuri couldn’t blame her. Everyone shook in fear at the sight of an angry Lilia Baravnoskaya.

 

“Anya.”

 

One word, one name, everyone nearby simply faints in fear.

 

Yuuri is wondering how Anya herself didn’t run away in terror.

 

Lilia adjusts her shades (Luxuriator Style 23 Canary Diamond Sunglasses. It’s worth more than Bill Gates’ organs) so now they are perched on her head, eyes now on full display.

 

Lilia looked _pissed_.

 

“I’m disappointed in you, dear.” Lilia says, Anya cowers at the vicious pet name. “And to think that I actually trusted you.”

 

Yuuri hears the most pathetic whimper come from the woman, and he can’t help but feel sympathy in his heart-

 

 _She doesn’t matter._ The snake says, twisting around his tailored arm and hissing into his ear. _She deserved it. Stop being a sympathetic loser and toughen up-_

He shakes his head, blinking away the snake.

 

He… _really_ needs to cut back on the caffeine.

 

Lilia takes a step forward, manicured nails as sharp as daggers. She glares deep into Anya’s soul, sending terrified shivers down the woman’s spine-

 

“If you don’t return the money you stole, I will have you and your pathetic kin of a family behind bars.” Lilia says, voice monotone and accent gravelly. Despite her statement being quiet, almost every window in the room shatters.

 

Anya, that poor girl, is too terrified to speak.

 

Lilia pivots and sashays away, heels clacking on the floor. Yuuri follows suit, but he can’t help but look over his shoulder and feel sorry for the trembling woman-

 

 _She doesn’t matter._ Hiss hiss. _She doesn’t matter. She doesn’t matter-_

“That felt _great_.” Georgi exclaims, catching up to him. “Did you see her face? She looked _awful_. Also, did you record my performance? You can’t help but agree that I looked _fine_.”

 

Yuuri chuckles as they reach the church doors, the last remnants of smoke disappearing. “You were great. But a _smoke machine?_ Georgi…”

 

Georgi scoffs haughtily, pulling on his shades as the sunlight blinds them. “Honey, it’s all about _presentation_. No impact would be _so_ boring, don’t you agree?”

 

Yuuri looks back, still seeing the forlorn woman in white by the altar.

 

_She doesn’t matter. She doesn’t matter. She doesn’t matter._

“Yeah… I do.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

“ **’Giernovich Wedding: Hijacked. Laundering Scandal, Exposed?** ’” Phichit says this in an extremely shitty sports announcer voice, not even looking up from his phone. Yuuri cringes at his impression. Phichit should _never_ do that again. “So what, you’re some company assassin for corrupt people?”

 

Yuuri Katsuki is as silent as a bug.

 

(But sometimes bugs are noisy as hell, so it does not apply directly.)

 

Phichit pokes Yuuri’s back with his foot in a patterned sock, pizza patterned. It was supposed to be a gag gift but Phichit loved it. The Japanese man doesn’t stir, only doing what seemed to be ritualistic mating with the sewing machine as he dragged some flaunty purple fabric across the death needle.

 

“How’d you even know it was me?” Yuuri murmurs amidst the whirring of the sewing machine. Phichit just raises an eyebrow.

 

“Honey, I could see your clearance bin hair gel a mile away. Of _course_ I would know. Honestly, _when_ are you going to outlive your ‘broke-student’ habits and get something remotely Chanel?”

 

“I have enough things that are Chanel, thank you.” And more, actually. Most of them were gifts. He’d never been one to self-indulge, unless it was food or Netflix. Then _fuck yes_. “And no, I’m no assassin.”

 

“Are you sure? Either they photoshopped it or poor desperate housewife looks like she just got _cut_.” Phichit cackles, nudging Yuuri lightly, but not _too_ much. He knows enough to not disturb Yuuri much when he’s sewing. “I feel like a proud mama bird. You’re finally using your on fleek eyebrows to do some good.”

 

Yuuri scoffs, suddenly remembering Anya’s poor, distraught face. “I’m not even _sure_ if I did good.”

 

Phichit hums. “She literally stole money from not only her _own_ company but from her neighboring companies just so Honey Boo Boo could afford a trip to the Bahamas. You cut her down before she could suck off more than what she already took. How is that _not_ good?”

 

Yuuri doesn’t get to answer. He hears his phone buzz, the familiar Nyan Cat theme song ringing throughout the room, and he sees that it was a text from Lilia.

 

 

> **Lilia Baravnoskaya** [8:45]
> 
>  
> 
> We need you in the studio. Bring in the belts I ordered from Magnanni. Make sure the studs are perfectly aligned with the clasp or I will wring their necks.

 

 

Yuuri groans, staring at his unfinished design forlornly. Ugh, he was _thisclose_ to finishing it. He wanted to see it done and finished at last ~~and he wonders how it would look on Viktor as well. Was that even a question? Viktor would look _fine_.~~

 

> **Lilia Baravnoskaya** [8:46]
> 
>  
> 
> Be here in ten minutes.

 

 

Yuuri jumps out of his seat, grabbing a nearby coat and throwing it over his pajamas as he is hit with a good ol’ pang of anxiety™. There are many things you would want to achieve in life, like skydiving or making out with your longtime crush, but angering Lilia Baravnoskaya isn’t one of them.

 

Phichit isn’t even _fazed_ by his sudden retreat. He just hollers a ‘take care’ to Yuuri without even looking up from his device.

 

And Yuuri, who was sleep-deprived and constantly running on coffee, figures this couldn’t get any worse.

 

He stops by the apartment complex’s doorstep, _right_ before he gets drenched in rain. He sees the little droplets fall to the ground in fat little He feels fear as war veteran flashbacks of Lilia making him do field work for being late flash through his mind. He remembers running through New York city’s streets and almost getting run over more than once as he hauls fifteen shopping bags, for the least, and constantly fearing for his life.

 

He does _not_ want to endure that ever again.

 

He looks around, sees that the dingy old community umbrella is stolen again by who knows who, and just groans before running through the downpour.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

He feels like Cory Baxter was in his nostrils. He _certainly_ wasn’t feeling ‘in the house’ for the moment.

 

Everyone near the five mile radius jumps as Yuuri lets out another ungraceful sneeze, grabbing a piece of Kleenex in the nick of time before he bestows everyone a holy shower of his snot. Time was an abstract concept, his vision was swirling, and he _swears_ Jungle Jim is hammering the inside of his head somewhere-

 

“Yuuri, honey, I think you should take the day off.” Sara says, voice full of sympathy. Yuuri couldn’t see what her expression was since it seemed like his eyes were swimming with unshed tears. Of what, you may ask? Pain? Hurt? The feeling of being crushed by the grueling reality that we are all part of a jeweled cage we built ourselves and nothing really truly exists and the reason we believe things are real is because our perception creates connections to divert our brain from succumbing into our never ending existential crisis-

 

Minami snaps a finger in front of his face. The mere action sends a deadly headache spiraling into Yuuri’s brain. “He looks like he is questioning his entire life.”

                                                         

Yuuri giggles. He _giggles._ He laughs, snorts embarrassingly sometimes, but not _giggles_. Like a drunkard, he grabs his nearby coffee cup and prepares to sip. “Not just my entire life, Kenjirou, the entire _universe_. Did you know that space is constantly expanding and we might be drifting farther and farther away from any possible life sustaining planets? Because _I_ do!”

 

Minami looks like he’d just been introduced to a whole new species of human.

 

“I… I…” Minami blubbers as the entire Doctor Who movie goes on behind his irises. “What.”

 

Sara squints at Yuuri. “Is _this_ what happens when you get sick? All… existential crisis?”

 

Yuuri plops out on his desk, holding onto his cup of coffee like it was a lifeline. He feels like his brain is going to explode into a cosmic bang. Not the _good_ cosmic bang. The bad one. “I’m not sick.”

 

“Sure you aren’t.”

 

Sure he isn’t.

 

“Hello!” The human epitome of rainbows and sunshine swaggers in like he own the place. If he asks politely, the managers probably would let him. Viktor, like a dysfunctional sticker, sidles to Yuuri’s desk. Once Viktor sees that Yuuri looks like a Gremlin running on nothing but coffee (that’s _exactly_ who he was. Maybe he got the secret to life now) Viktor couldn’t help but look at him with pity.

 

“Jesus… What happened to you?” Viktor asks, looks at him closely, and if Yuuri wasn’t feeling like someone just replaced his blood with lava, he might’ve felt a little flustered at how close Viktor’s face was.

 

But he feels like Satan just shoved a barbed wire down his throat and made him do the ice bucket challenge… forty six times. It was _not_ a good experience and Yuuri feels like he was going to pass out.

 

“I’m fine!” Yuuri says, voice cracking.

 

He was not fine.

 

Sara just sighs. “I think you trudged through the rain when Lilia made you come in late yesterday. Maybe _that’s_ why you’re sick.”

 

Yuuri frowns, eyes squinted because if he does so much so as open them the Niagra Falls will fall out of his irises. “I’m not sick.”

 

Viktor frowns. “Sure you’re not.”

 

Sure he’s not.

 

Yuuri daintily rest his head on his arm, feeling every small movement send a jolt of pain up his head. “I’m ‘kay… Just gonna… Just gonna rest…”

 

Viktor pouts. “It’s better if you rest at home.”

 

Sara nods. “You’re overworking yourself. Go home, Yuuri.”

 

Yuuri doesn’t answer.

 

There’s a possibility… that Yuuri’s already asleep.

 

Or dead.

 

Viktor pokes him in the shoulder. “Yuuri, go home.”

 

“Can’t move.” A distressed voice echoes from the deepest depths of Tartarus. They figured it was Yuuri.

 

Sara frowns sympathetically, reaching out to place a hand on Yuuri’s forehead. It felt like she just touched a hot iron, and she hisses. “Yuuri, you’re having a fever. You _really_ need to go home.”

 

Home? Where’s home? Hasetsu? He _really_ wants to go back to Hasetsu. He misses his mama, and his dad, and Mari with her cigarette smoke. Also, he hasn’t even visited Vicchan’s shrine yet. He was a horrible, _horrible_ owner and he deserved to _drown_ -

 

“Yuuri, what are you talking about?” Viktor asks with this lovely voice. Yuuri never liked Russian accents this much his entire life. “I think he’s delusional. He needs to rest.”

 

“But he’s too tired to move.” He could hear Sara say, she’s probably doing this hip jut thing with her hand on her side. It was a habit of hers. “We can’t have him stay here, he might give everyone a cold-“

 

Oh no, was he going to be a menace? Yuuri doesn’t like being a menace. _Is_ he going to be a menace? He better leave. He doesn’t want to be a menace. Why does he keep using the word ‘menace’ again? There are more appropriate words for the situation, like ‘dipshit’. Was he going to be a dipshit?

 

Yuuri, with feeble attempts, tries to do this excruciating task called ‘getting up from a chair’. “I-I’m… I’m alright. I’m jus’ gonna… leave-“

 

Surprise surprise, Yuuri fails.

 

Viktor catches him by the arms before he could face plant onto the floors, and Yuuri _giggles._ Oh well, at least it was better than snorting embarrassingly. Viktor looks down on a disoriented Yuuri whilst holding him up, concern etched onto his pretty features.

 

“He can’t make it on his own, for sure.” Viktor says, gently sitting Yuuri back up on his chair.

 

“Then bring him home!”

 

Yuuri _swears_ he could see Sara’s trademark ‘fuck yes’ smile, purple eyes shining and teeth are showing. She usually gets this look when Lilia praises her (and by ‘praise’ it’s a standard ‘your collection was moderately acceptable’), someone finally fixes the dingy old sewing machine by the back corner, or when she suggest that a certain Russian man to take a sick Japanese man home.

 

“No!” Yuuri exclaims, head jutting up. Another headache spirals into his skull, down his spine. “I can… I can make it on my own-“

 

“Sure you can.”

 

Sure he can.

 

Yuuri fumbles to lift himself up, only to fail miserably once more. It was Viktor who, once again, saves him from hurting himself… repeatedly.

 

“We’re too busy working for the Milan’s Men Fashion Week, we can’t take him home.” Sara says. Yuuri was too busy staring up at Viktor to actually give a fuck what she’s saying. “Can you take him home, Viktor? Yuuri is obviously _not_ going to survive in a grimy, busy place like New York on his own, _sick_.”

 

Yuuri glares at Sara half-heartedly. She was using this condescending voice she uses when she tries to bribe the third floor vending machine to smuggle them more snacks. Sad to say, it always, _always_ , worked.

 

Viktor just huffs, looking down at Yuuri. Viktor smelled nice. _Very_ nice. Yuuri wouldn’t say Viktor smelled like ‘a drop of golden essence’ or ‘blooming flowers in an Irish field’ or some standard white shit like that. Viktor smelled like some standard Clive Christian perfume, which was worth more than any Irish field out there.

 

“Alright. I’ll take you home.”

 

Yuuri doesn’t need to look just to know that Sara and Minami are both trying to unknowingly take multiple pictures of the situation. However, Yuuri was too sick to care.

 

“N-No… I’m… I’m alright.”

 

“Sure you are.”

 

Sure he is.

 

“Now come on.” Viktor gently puts him back down on his chair, and Yuuri feels a headache coming up at every given moment. “Do you want to help me pack up your things?”

 

Yuuri shakes his head, flinches as another wave of pain rolls through his mind, and he groans as he weakly pulls all his shit together. He was trying. _Boy_ he was trying. After several moments of zombie movements, he finally swings his messenger bag over his shoulder. He only had a coffee thermos, a few sketches, and a broken pencil in there but it felt like he was lifting weights.

 

“Here...” Viktor takes the messenger bag with seemingly no effort at all. Yuuri is amazed, mesmerized, inspired. Did Viktor work out? He did, probably. Judging from the six pack he sported, he probably did. Probably. And judging by the steady hand that supports Yuuri by his side as he wobbles like a baby deer on crack, Viktor probably knew how to make Yuuri and the rest of the universe faint as well.

 

Yuuri wills to steady himself as Viktor leads him out the door, the last few of the designers giving them looks. Yuuri risks a look behind his shoulder and he sees Sara and Minami doing rather… explicit hand gestures.

 

Yuuri _swears_ he is going to steal all the vending machine snacks once he’s gotten better.

 

It was a torturous ride, six floors down the grand Euro. Homage building while he tries not to stumble over and accidentally kill himself. Viktor wasn’t helping. Sure, he was there to occasionally smile and give him encouragement but the fact that he was _thisclose_ to Yuuri and his gloved hand was pressed to his side, Yuuri wasn’t going to last long like this.

 

Yuuri blinks as Viktor leads them to the basement parking. There, Yuuri sees a blindingly silver carriage that was ready to whisk them away… Carriage? More like a pristine silver Porsche. Viktor hobbles him to the passenger seat, buckles him up like he was a little kid. Viktor’s car smelled nice too. There was a cute little doggie bobblehead on the dashboard.

 

Yuuri flicks it, giggles as the bobblehead bobbles. Up and down.

 

Viktor looks at him from the driver’s seat. Oh, how’d he get in so fast?

 

Yuuri looks back, eyes bloodshot and he probably looked like a Gremlin. But the headaches pounding in his mind were muddling his insecurity, so he didn’t really care for the moment.

 

“Your car smells nice.” Yuuri finally says, breaking the silence.

 

Viktor laughs, heart shaped mouth and all. Yuuri likes it. Likes Viktor’s laugh. It was nice and pretty, just like the rest of him.

 

“I was just checking you out to see if you’re alright.”

 

Yuuri blinks, squinting at him through his partially foggy glasses. “You were checking me out?”

 

Viktor blushes immediately. Even Yuuri could see from his fucked up vision. Viktor’s blush was nice, too. So was his smile and his hair. In fact, _everything_ about him was nice. Viktor’s blush, especially so. Why was Viktor blushing? Did he say something? What-

 

“N-No! I… I just wanted to see if you were okay.”

 

He’s not. He felt like all sorts of Nickelodeon slime was injected up his nostrils. But he says ‘I’m fine’ anyways.

 

Viktor exits the parking swiftly. Viktor drove well too. Was there _anything_ Viktor can’t do? He could probably bagpipe really well. Probably. Yuuri doesn’t know.

 

Viktor asks him where he lives and Yuuri, with the last of his strength, points out where his shithole is. Yuuri lived somewhere along the outskirts of Manhattan in a quaint little condo. Yuuri described it to have ‘the Tardis’ complex when he first saw it. Small on the outside, big on the inside.

 

When they finally reached the building, Viktor had to help you hobble inside because he was too fatigued to handle himself.

 

“You live alone?” Viktor murmurs as he looks around the apartment, helping Yuuri to the couch. Yuuri immediately passes out on the worn furniture, feeling like one of those forgotten 2005 memes. It was _not_ a good feeling.

 

“Yeah… Sometimes Phichit comes over…” Yuuri murmurs into the cushions, like he was talking to it. Viktor just hums noncommittally as he places Yuuri’s messenger bag on the coffee table.

 

“Who’s Phichit?”

 

Yuuri nearly succumbs into the fourth dimension. “Some… Someone. I don’t know.”

 

Yuuri registers Viktor looking around the condo, as if he was in awe. Yuuri doesn’t know why. There was a small crack on the wall from when Yuuri accidentally rammed his designer table against it… somehow. He remembers being drunk. And that’s all you have to know. There were also littered mannequins throughout. Yuuri got scared shitless that one night, thinking it was a burglar. That mannequin was now karate chopped in half.

 

Yuuri pulls himself up so now he’s half asleep sitting up on the couch. “You… You can leave now.”

 

Viktor looks at him concern lacing his features. “Are you sure? You look… You look like you’re gonna need help.”

 

Yuuri makes a vague hand gesture. “Psh, I’ll be _fine_.”

 

He tries to stand up.

 

He fails.

 

He falls to his pristine hardwood floors and it was _pathetic_. His legs felt like dollar store noodles and Viktor was a $130 pasta with truffles. The blue eyed man, bless his perfect soul, immediately runs over and helps him up.

 

“Why are you like this?” Yuuri murmurs, eyes holding all the pain in the world.

 

Viktor just blinks as he slings Yuuri’s arms over his shoulder just to support him. “I just… I just wanted to help you-“

 

“No, _no_ , not you.” Yuuri says weakly as he smudged Viktor’s face with a hand. “ _Me_. Why am I like this?”

 

Viktor just chuckles. “Do you want me to take you to your room? Wouldn’t it be nicer to be in bed?”

 

Yuuri just makes a sound that sounds like it came from the Jurassic Period.

 

“That’s a yes then.”

 

It takes some navigating and some key fumbling from Yuuri, but they enter Yuuri’s room. There was a standard Queen sized bed and Jesus _Christ_ , sketches _everywhere_. There was a wall plastered with sketch vomit, the papers ranging from tarpaulins to little post its. It was a beautiful sight. There was a messy desk and a floor to ceiling window with cushions. It was cozy and nice, and- _oh would you look at that_ , Yuuri is already passed out on his bed.

 

Yuuri makes a futile attempt to flop his shoes off his feet. Viktor giggles as the shoes go flying to their perspective places on the floor. Viktor looks for a way to turn on the air conditioning, and Yuuri burrows himself under the sheets.

 

“I’ll be back, okay?”

 

Viktor doesn’t return for another thirty minutes.

 

~~No, he wasn’t counting.~~

 

If Yuuri wasn’t too engrossed with wondering whether he was dying or not, he might’ve been worried. Humiliated, maybe. Maybe Viktor ditched him. Maybe he got swirled into the never ending fourth dimension-

 

And then a wonderful smell envelops the room, and like some caveman, Yuuri peeks his head out from under his futon. Viktor can be seen holding a bowl of something smoking. Was it on fire? Did Viktor set something on fire? Oh _no-_

“I made you soup.” Viktor says, sitting down on the edge of the bed. “I tried to make you something better but all you had in your pantry are macaroni noodles and granola bars. How are you _not_ starving to death?”

 

Yuuri sits himself up, wondering how God managed to make such a perfect human being. Viktor made him _soup_. He made him _soup_. The mere thought made Yuuri want to giggle like a little bitch as he takes the bowl. _Ow._ Hot.

 

Yuuri inhales and _fuck yes_. Takes the spoon (if he’d done this himself he would be probably eating this with chopsticks) and takes a small sip.

  
_Fuck yes_.

 

Viktor looked a little relieved at Yuuri’s expression. Yuuri probably had this awestruck look on his face, eyes wide as he sips more. “Is it alright?”

 

Yuuri sneezes, thankfully not into the soup, and he nods weakly. “Good.”

 

Viktor smiles, soft. “Good.” He observes Yuuri, a soft gleam in his eyes. “Do you like it? It’s a recipe I learned when I went to South East Asia. Don’t be fooled. It’s the only proper dish I know.”

 

Yuuri just hums, slurping up the diced vegetables. _Vegetables?_ Since _when_ did Yuuri have vegetables? Nonetheless, it was a nice dish. “You’re a nice cook.”

 

“Ah, but I’m a lazy one.”

 

Yuuri forgoes the spoon and drinks it all up from the bowl, too hungry and tired to care. Maybe, if he wasn’t too disoriented, he might’ve wondered why Viktor was this nice, why he was this caring, why he made Yuuri want to relive things he didn’t want to remember in the first place.

 

Viktor Nikiforov was a funny abstract, Yuuri realizes. Maybe it’s the first time he’s realized this, maybe not, but he realizes it anyways. Viktor bends in ways unimaginable, surprising him with ease and making him regret the things he said and done.

 

“You didn’t have to do this, you know?” Yuuri says weakly as he finishes.

 

Viktor just smiles, taking the empty bowl.

 

“But I want to.”

 

Yuuri tries to ignore the fluttering in his heart as burrows deep into his covers. He could still feel Viktor’s presence, sitting by his bed.

 

“If you want to, Yuuri, I can take care of you?” Viktor murmurs, low and hesitant. “You’re all alone and you wouldn’t take care of yourself this way.”

 

Yuuri freezes, his eyes cracking open just a bit as he doesn’t move from under his futon.

 

“Just say the word, Yuuri. I can. I will.”

 

And for once, Yuuri has never been this thankful for Lilia making him run around in the rain.

 

“You don’t have to…” Yuuri murmurs from under his duvet, trying hard to ignore the fast beating of his heart.

 

“But it would be nice… If you would.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

Later, when Phichit Chulanont, Katsuki best friend and meme lord, enters the Katsuki household with the spare key Yuuri gave him (he was bestowed with the blessing) everything seemed alright. He looks around the familiar apartment, surprised when his Japanese friend isn’t sitting by the T.V or measuring out some fabric by the desk.

 

“Yuuri? Where are you? I heard you sneezing last night so I brought over some hot tea just in case you were cold-“

 

He drops the paper cup holder when he sees Viktor Nikiforov in the kitchen.

 

The blue eyed man isn’t even fazed, just giving him a confused look as the man fusses over something boiling in a pot. Phichit… is _beyond_ confused. It wasn’t the fact that the hottest bachelor in the world is standing in his best friend’s kitchen, it was the fact that the hottest bachelor in the world is standing _half naked with nothing covering his torso but that tacky blue apron Yuuri had_ in his best friend’s kitchen.

 

“You must be Phichit?” Viktor asks, polite. He smiles, ladle in hand. “Hi! I’m Viktor Nikiforov!”

 

Yeah… As if everyone and their mothers didn’t know his name.

 

“I… What…” Phichit murmurs out, staring at the tea staining the hardwood floors.

 

Viktor just hums. “I’m a friend of Yuuri’s. I’m here to ‘take care’ of him.”

 

Phichit raises an eyebrow, staring at the man incredulously as he finds for words to say.

 

 _Did… Did they bang or something?_ Was the first thing that enters his mind. _Why is he half naked? And… is he talking about aftercare or something?_

A creak from one of the bedroom doors, Yuuri comes out with his hair mussed and in nothing but a pair of shorts and an overly large tshirt.

 

Phichit… does _not_ want to believe that they fucked. Sure, if they did Phichit would be proud because _omg yes go get that dick_ , but the three of them were all in the same household and things will be marginally 100x more awkward.

 

“Ah, Yuuri!” Viktor greets brightly, smile and all. “You can walk now! I was so worried, since you were all so _wobbly_ and could barely stand.”

 

Phichit chokes on nothing in particular at all, eyes swiveling to his best friend as Yuuri looked like he had a nights worth of raunchy sex.

 

The Japanese man just chuckles, running a hand through his hair.

 

“I’m alright. Besides, it doesn’t hurt that much anymore.”

 

Phichit drops the second paper cup holder.

 

Yuuri finally seems to be aware of Phichit’s existence, and his eyes widen at the sight of the bewildered Thai.

 

“Phichit! What are you-“

 

Phichit walks out the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *updates this before i pass out*
> 
> self care is running in the rain at 8 pm and then going to work the next day while feeling like shit #me
> 
> why did i listen to beyonce while writing this. why.
> 
> I hc that the both of them can actually cook but Viktor is just too lazy and he's afraid of hot oil popping in a frying pan and ordering McDonalds is easier.
> 
>  
> 
> [check out my shit tumblr yall](https://jmoncheri.tumblr.com)

**Author's Note:**

> like it? hate it? scream at me on my tumblr: jmoncheri


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